


He needs to know

by ADreamOfBetterEndings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jonerys, Mentions of miscarriage, Pregnant Dany, Sexual Content, and a little Gendrya that nobody asked for, another fix it no one asked for or wanted, boat baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamOfBetterEndings/pseuds/ADreamOfBetterEndings
Summary: After arriving at Winterfell and receiving some unexpected news Daenerys and Jon navigate the consequences of their love, secrets, and war.
Relationships: Grey Worm/Missandei, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 150
Kudos: 441





	1. He needs to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Tyrion have a conversation before the Battle at Winterfell.

“Please go away Lord Tyrion,” Daenerys says following a knock on her bedroom door. She is lying on her bed looking out the window at the snow-covered hills of Winterfell hoping she would be left alone before all seven hells broke loose. Though since arriving at Winterfell she feels like she’s already in them. 

She isn’t surprised when she hears the door open behind her anyway.

“Surely you couldn’t have known it was me,” Tyrion says entering her chamber and closing the door behind him. “Maybe we should add that to your titles, “mother of seeing through heavy wood doors.”

She rolls her eyes at his attempt at humor before sitting up and turning to face him.

“Everyone was instructed to leave me alone. I knew _you_ would be the only one to disregard those orders.” She considers him and is surprised to see he is almost sheepish entering her chambers. Head down, staring intently at the tray of cheese and bread he’s brought in with him like he’s afraid to drop it, and most surprisingly she notices he hasn’t brought wine.

He approaches slowly and carefully balances the tray on her bedside table. “Of course. Not mother of seeing through doors then….” He pauses and she knows he not finished. When does Tyrion ever have that little to say? He stalls for a moment, and she thinks he’s choosing his words carefully, and finally meets her eyes. “Perhaps we’ll just add ‘mother’ to your list of titles in a few months,” he says cautiously.

Her hand goes to her belly, the swell of it so slight she could pass it off as the result of a large meal, and easily hidden under her heavy skirts.

“How did you know?” She asks in barely a whisper.

_ She _ didn’t even know. Not until recently.

For days she had felt, and ignored, Missandei’s scrutinizing gaze. 

She knew her friend had been worried about her. Between to the stress brought onto her from the resistance from the Northern Lords, the Army of the Dead marching closer every day, and Jon abandoning her, Daenerys hadn’t been doing well.

For the past few weeks she would wake up in the middle of the night, or early in the morning to get sick. The nausea would usually subside for the rest of the day until food was presented to her. She found the norther cuisine didn’t agree with her, and could hardly eat anything without throwing it back up. Her lack of appetite left her weak, but she refused to miss a single meeting or rest, and ignored pleas from Missandei to take it easy. In short, she was exhausted but wrote the whole thing off due to stress.

_ Until she couldn’t anymore. _

It wasn’t the first time in recent days she felt like Missandei had taken a new interest in her naked body while she bathed.

“Is Grey Warm no longer satisfying you?” Daenerys jokingly asked her friend in attempts to lighten the mood, and draw her friend away from staring at her breasts.

“I know you have been feeling unwell, Daenerys, have you noticed any other changes to your body?” Missandei asked carefully.

“Changes? What about me has changed?” She snapped at her friend more defensively than she meant to.

Missandei continues to pour the hot water over Daenerys, washing away the remaining suds. “The other day I struggled to lace up the dress that you have been wearing for over a year. And just now you flinched when the sponge brushed against your breasts, which, are noticeably larger.”

“It’s the north and the stress. It doesn’t agree with me.” She told Missanedi defensively. She’s never been ashamed of her body, but she feels vulnerable having this conversation naked. She wants to get out of the tub, so she stands up quickly.

Too quickly.

The sudden movement makes her dizzy and she sways on her feet, the rim of the tub too low to grab onto, and the floor of it slippery. Fortunately, Missandei is there in less than a second, offering Daenerys her arm that she grips onto and steadies her.

“Thank you,” Daenerys mumbles once the room has stopped spinning, and Missandei helps her out of the tub.

The two women are silent as Missandei helps towel her dry, Daenerys realizes she is mindful to be gentle around her sensitive breasts. Missandei then helps her into her robe that she knots lazily, not expecting to stay in it long. She is tired, and it's late. She’ll finally retire earlier in the night once Missandei is done helping with her hair. But instead of leading her to her vanity like she usually does after her bath, Missandei lightly grips her shoulders and stands her in front of the large full-length mirror in her room.

“Daenerys, you have not bled since Dragonstone. That was over two moons ago.”

It was like a cold wave washing over her as the realization of her friend's words started to sink in. Missandei took Daenerys’ hand that was now shaking and brought it to her navel, where the slightest bump had started to grow.

“ _I think you are with child_ ,” Missandei said softly in Valerian and gave her friend a sad smile.

She was unable to control the sobs that wracked through her body then. Missandei held her and stroked her hair whispering comforting words to Daenerys that she didn’t hear. She cried for herself, for her anger towards Jon Snow for getting her pregnant and then abandoning her. She cried for her Rhaego, who she never got to hold in her arms. And finally, she cried for this innocent baby growing in her womb, who she was she sure she would inevitably lose in one of the two upcoming wars.

After finally composing herself, how much longer she didn’t know, she swore Missandei to unnecessary secrecy.

Over the next few days, Missandei layered Daenerys in heavy skirts and furs to hide any suspicion of a baby bump and did her best to excuse and cover for her friend when nausea became an issue. All and all it was impossible for anyone to discover her secret.

_ Of course _ , if anyone was going to figure it out, it would be her ever-vigilant hand.

Tyrion lets out a heavy signs, bringing her out of her memories. “I saw my sister go through four pregnancies. You are nauseous every morning, you are much more tired than usual, and your temper has grown even shorter.”

Daenerys glares at him, trying not to snap at him, further proving his point.

“Four?” she says after a moment, brows furrowed in confusion. “I thought Cersei had three children.”

“Her firstborn, the only child she had with Robert, didn’t live more than a few weeks.” He says climbing onto her bed, the tray of food, his peace offering she expects, between then. “He died of a fever. I thought she was going to burn all of King’s Landing down that day.”

“Maybe Cersei and I have more in common than I thought,” Daenerys says, one hand going back to the swell of her stomach and stroking it gently with her thumb. She says a silent prayer to the gods she doesn’t believe in, as she has every night since discovering she was with child, that this one wouldn’t be taken away from her like her dear Rhaego.

“You are nothing like Cersei,” Tyrion says as he takes her unoccupied hand in his own. A gesture she would have scolded him for months ago for being too familiar, but since arriving at Winterfell he had been one of her few advocates and friends, so she allows it.

“Cersei was driven mad by the loss of her child. She only grew to hate and hurt more.” Daenerys looks up at him, tears starting to gather in her violet eye. Gods damn her pregnancy hormones. “You did everything you could to protect your people after you lost your child. And you continued to do so through Meereen, Astapor, and Yunkai. 

Daenerys smiles at him, and squeezes his hand, she’s afraid she’ll break apart at the attempt to say anything back, so instead, she just gives him a sad mile. Tyrion releases her hand to motion to the tray of food between them.

“Please eat. I can’t have our pregnant queen die of starvation.” 

So he’s noticed that too.

“What’s the point if we’re all going to die in this stupid war anyway?” She signs, and wrinkles her nose at the food, making no move to reach for it so Tyrion breaks off a chunk of bread and puts a slice of cheese on it and hands it to her. She reluctantly takes a bite. She was hungry, she couldn’t hide that for much longer, no matter how sick she would feel in the morning.

“You know Daenerys, I never had children of my own,” Tyrion starts.

“Well surely there must be a little Tyrion be running around in some brothel between Kings Landing and The Wall,” she interrupts with a voice of jest.

“I took much care to never father a child. A life as a dwarf is hard. A life as a bastard is just as cruel…” he says and her hand once again falls on her stomach as she glares at him. “A life of both I would never wish upon my worst enemy.”

“What of my bastard child, then?” She snaps. 

“Well, you will be Queen. You will set precedent for how your people are treated, and maybe, with some time, bastards will no longer be cast off. We will look to Dorne as an example.” Tyrion then tears off a piece of bread for himself sharing the meal with her. “But I would not worry about that. Jon Snow will come back to you.”

“He can’t even look at me, Tyrion. And I don’t know why.” Her voice breaking. She held up a stony persona for so long, and all of a sudden Jon Snow came around and broke every wall she worked years to put up. A part of her hates him for that. A part of her hates him so much, and it would be easier if she could become as indifferent to him as he is to her. But every time she decides she he’s too much trouble and no longer needs him in her life she can’t deny how much she misses him and wishes he was here with her. She loves him, and she thought that he loved her. But then something changed. She doesn’t know what happened, only when. “He abandoned me as soon as we got to Winterfell.”

Tyrion sighs reaching for another piece of bread. “He is an honorable man and knows far too well the hard life of a bastard. My assumption is he will propose the second he learns you are pregnant.”

“I don’t want to marry Jon because he is honorable. I want him to love me again. And even if he does marry me what if he rejects me and his child? I feel like I do not even know him anymore Tyrion. He looks at me like he hates me.” Her bread has been long forgotten at this point, only managing to take a few bites.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of his Daenerys, but Jon Snow does not hate you. He loves you. I can see it every time he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching.” He turns and studies her, her hands worrying in her lap, looking so unsure. “And even if he did, he will love your child. You once asked him to not judge you because of the sins of your father, and he respected you for it. I think he will honor that same promise for his own child.”

She doesn’t respond to him, a million thoughts running through her head. So Tyrion begins again, unable to sit in silence for much longer.

“I saw him headed down into the crypt when I came to find you. He’s probably down there brooding. You need to tell him. He needs to know.”

“You think telling him I’m pregnant with his child the night before a war is a good idea?” She says raising her eyebrows. Is it normal to so often question the judgment of the person she chose as her hand?

“I do.” He says confidently. 

“You’ve changed your opinion on him.” She retorts. “ What happened to your feelings the night you saw him sneaking into my cabin? You warned me to be careful.”

“The truth is, I wanted you to be careful because I love you Daenerys.”

She’s taken aback by his confession. And opens her mouth to protest but he cuts her off before she can say anything.

“Now before you jump to conclusions, I can assure you, not like that. Not the way Daario or Drogo loved you. Certainty not the way Jon Snow loves you. Not even the way Ser Jorah loves you. Besides, I know I am much too little for you.”

“I didn’t mean it.” She defends quickly.

“No need to explain.” He chuckles. “But no, I am not _in love_ with you. But I do love you similar to how I loved Tommen and Marcella. Like I need to protect you. You know I’ve always had an affinity for cripples, bastards, and broken things.”

“Are you calling your Queen a broken thing?” She tries to scold, but the corners of her lips turn up in a smile.

“Only occasionally when you need my guidance.” He says smiling back at her.

“And that’s your guidance right now? To tell him?” She settles back against her headboard. Her hand falling on her stomach without noticing.

“Gods forbid something happen to one of you during this war. Wouldn’t you rather he know?” His response surprises her. It is more emotional than she expected. He usually councils her logically, always with a strategy in mind.

She gives him another teary look as she nods her head. Damn these hormones making her so emotional.

“Then tell him. Surely there are worse things you can tell someone before they head off into battle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me months to write so mad respect to all of you who turn out gorgeous novels every other day. 
> 
> Of the long list of things I hated about Season 8 Tyrion being in love with Dany ranks pretty high. So here are my unrealistic hopes of Dad Tyrion. If I can ever get my act together I'll finish my fics of Dany telling Jon she's pregnant, and life with their Targlings. 
> 
> Please forgive my dyslexic ass for any typos.


	2. After the battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon searches for his family after the Battle at Winterfell

Jon Snow was going to die. 

That is what he decides while narrowly escaping the blue flames of Daenerys’ fallen child and taking a moment to compose himself behind the ruins of Winterfell.

Like the brick wall behind him was going to do anything to stop a fucking undead ice dragon. 

He is going to die. This is it. The Lord of Light brought him back just to die while they lost the Battle of Winterfell. 

Because that is certain too. 

The war is lost. Jon and Daenerys’ forces are neither large enough nor strong enough to win when the Night King has brought every corpse back to life and onto his team. If they were not grossly outnumbered to begin with, now it was just comical. 

All he can do now is pray to the gods that by some miracle if he stops Viserion, Daenerys can save his brother and sisters and fly them to Essos. 

Essos is the only option. Because when they fail here, Westeros would be lost. Cersei can die at the hand of the dead while his siblings and lover live out a few more years at Daenerys’ palace in Meereen. 

It is a nice thought to leave this world on - his family, happy, together, and someplace warm. So while Jon jumps out in front of the dragon, that is sure to kill him, he is at peace knowing he is doing it to save the ones he loves the most. 

And then the most anti-climatic thing that can possibly happen, does. 

Viserion collapses into a heap before him. 

How the fuck did that happen? 

The blue fire that builds up in the back of his throat and visible in his mangled jaw is quickly extinguished, and the world is quiet apart from the sound of soft thuds around him. 

Those thuds are bodies falling to the ground, he realizes.

It is over. The Army of the Dead is done. The Night King must have fallen. 

Immediately two questions come to Jon’s mind. Who killed him? And honestly what the fuck was his purpose after being resurrected if not to kill the Night King?

He is stunned for a minute. Kicking Viserion for good measure to make sure the beast is actually dead. Not knowing what he will do if he finds his assessment to be wrong. 

Then two more nauseating thoughts come to mind: he has to find his siblings and he has to find Dany. 

Jon starts running through the castle ruins shouting their names without giving himself the time to imagine all of the horrible things that could have happened to them. 

There are so many dead, he can hardly process it. He doesn’t look at their faces, refusing to consider his family might be among the fallen. He only takes care to not step on them as he continues to shout and frantically search. 

He is drawn to a familiar thick accent shouting for Missandei and in the dim glow of daylight, finds Grey Worm, trying to get beyond the crypt door. 

Jon shouts for Sansa and for the first time he is relieved to hear her yell back at him. His worry for Grey Worm diminishes too when he recognizes Missandei calling for him. But then he realizes something is wrong. 

The two women aren’t crying out in relief, but sobbing for them. He then understands Grey Worm’s frantic attempts to get the door open. Something is wrong. They work together to break down the door that they had barred so well. Maybe too well. And finally, Sansa and Missandei come tumbling out. Sansa throws herself into Jon’s arms and weeps into this neck. 

He listens as best as he can to her choked worlds telling him what happened. He would never forgive himself for it.

He knew the dead could come back to life, so why did he think it was a good idea to put the women and children in a place where they were surrounded by them? 

They were sitting ducks. 

They had done such a good job at assuring the army of the dead wouldn’t get in that the occupants of the crypt couldn’t get out. 

Arya and Dany were clever enough to arm Sansa and Missandei with dragon glass daggers, but it wasn’t enough. So few children and even fewer women stumble out of the crypt. Another wave of nausea rolls over him when he notices Little Sam clutching onto Missandei's skirt and Gilly nowhere to be found. 

Tyrion limps out eventually, covered in blood and furious, announcing he is the last one. Apparently he had been armed too. He is still clutching his dagger tightly in his hand. 

“Where is our Queen?” He asks Jon curtly, his eyes more threatening than the dagger in his grip. 

Before Jon can answer he watches Grey Worm kiss Missandei hard and run off, presumably to find Dany. 

Jon has to follow him. 

Grey Worm isn’t the only one who has sworn to protect Daenerys. Jon had sworn to protect her too. He just hadn't done it as publicly, but instead one night in bed, on the ship, while she slept naked next to him. He gazed down at her, still not believing the most beautiful woman in the world was next to him, in his bed, and he knew he couldn’t allow anything to ever harm her. He hadn’t made any formal declaration or even said it out loud, but it was as binding as his pledge of fealty to her on the boat back from the Wall. 

He is about to run off after him in search of his queen when Sansa grabs his arm and tugs him back. 

“We have to find Arya and Bran.” She begs him. 

Of course. How could he forget his little siblings? 

“Aye.” He says trying to convince himself she’s right. 

He has to find his family. 

But isn’t Dany his family too?

He reluctantly follows Sansa into the Godswood, every bit of him screaming to go find Daenerys instead.

He is caught up thinking of every horrific thing that could have happened to her. He had witnessed some of the best fighters among the Dothraki, Unsullied, and Northmen not stand a chance against the wights. She didn’t know how to fight. There had been no time to train her. The voyage from Dragonstone had taken too long and the Army of the Dead had approached too fast. Almost a whole month they were in Winterfell and there still wasn’t enough time. Of course him avoiding her hadn't helped the situation. 

All he can do now is hope she stayed on top of Drogon. But Jon doesn’t see him circling the skies. And he can’t even feel Rhaegal. 

Sansa’s sharp scream pulls Jon back out of his thoughts. He braces himself for the worst, but it doesn’t come. A massive wave of relief, one that he will have time to feel guilty about later, washes over him when he realizes she is crying over the lifeless body of Theon Greyjoy. 

Jon doesn’t linger on the scene. He allows Sansa to cry over her dead friend. He’ll comfort her later after he knows Arya and Bran are alright. 

“Oof.” He sighs, as a small weight crashes into him and holds onto him with a death grip. 

“Arya?” He breaths, looking down at the mess of dark curls so similar to his. 

“Thank the gods.” He says hugging her for a moment then he forces her to let go and takes her face gently in his hands. 

“You’re hurt.” He says, noticing the big gash in her forehead and the bruises starting to form around her eye. “We need to get you to a Maester.” 

Had the Maesters even survived? 

“I’m fine.” She stubbornly says. “I’m alive.” 

Jon looks past Arya and notices Bran looking untouched but slumped over in his chair. Jon should be heartbroken. Another one of his siblings, all of his brothers now dead. But the pain and grief don’t come immediately. While the lifeless body in the chair resembles Bran it isn’t the little brother Jon once knew. He never got the story of what happened to his sweet little brother while they were separated for years, but Bran had changed. The Bran Jon once knew had been gone for a long time. 

“I did it, Jon,” Arya says, and Jon looks back on her, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I killed the Night King.”

“How’d you do that?” He asks her, torn between being slightly proud, and slightly annoyed. Now wasn’t the time to be resentful that he wasn’t the savior of Winterfell but he didn’t even know his little sister could fight. He heard people in passing talk about how she was training with soldiers and good but Jon, having never witnessed her skills, was reluctant to let her on the battlefield. 

“I stuck him with the pointy end.” She says with a small smile, one that Jon returns, and pulls his sister in for a hug. 

Their moment is cut short by the sound of choking and gagging, only to realize Sansa has cried so hard she’s made herself sick. 

“We have to get her out of here,” Arya says, tugging on Jon’s cloak. 

Jon tries to coax Sansa away from her dead friend, but she won’t move and continues to clutch onto Theon. 

He lets Arya go first and has to drag Sansa away while she screams and cries. It takes some time but he manages to haul her up and get her walking while supporting most of her weight. She needs a bath and a good few hours of sleep. They all do. And he really wants Arya to see a Maester, though he knows his stubborn little sister will insist on all the other injured being seen first. 

By the time they get back to the courtyard, most of the stragglers have found their way and congregated there. Missandei is standing on the outskirts looking through the main gate where Gray Worm ran off through. She is gently rocking Little Sam who has fallen asleep in her arms. Jon knows what it means that Sam hasn’t returned to claim his son. He never had a chance at surviving - he had no experience fighting and no amount of luck was going to be enough to keep anyone alive during the grueling battle.

At least one Maester has survived and is seeing the worst of the victims alongside the Dothraki healers, who are in full force cleaning up scrapes, setting breaks, and sewing together wounds. Many of them are sporting their own battle scars, having been placed in safer parts of the castle but shooting from the rafters or battling on horseback all the same. 

Missandei approaches the Starks when she notices them return and shoves Little Sam into Sansa’s arms. 

“Take him” she commands and then she is trailing at the heels of Grey Worm, spitting rapid-fire questions to him in Valerian. Jon hadn’t even noticed him approaching but now it seems nothing else in the world exists apart from the soldier jogging towards the castle, and the body in his arms.

He knows immediately it has to be Daenerys and the flash of silver hair confirms his dread. Her white coat is almost unrecognizable under the layer of blood that has stained it. 

“Get him to the Free Folk. Someone there will take care of him. And then bathe and go to bed, Sansa. Arya, see a Maester.” Jon commands and rushes into the caster following Daenerys and her most trusted advisors. 

He isn’t as fast as them but is there to see Missandei shuffle a Dothraki woman into the Queen's chamber. Jon paces the hallway a hundred times and almost knocks a dozen. After finally building up some courage his hand is raised and ready to knock when Missandei abruptly opens the door. Her golden eyes show a certain fire he’s never seen in her before. 

“Is she alright?” Jon asks, the words rushing out of his mouth. 

“She’s in shock,” Missandei says, eyes narrow and glaring at him. “Ser Jorah died protecting her. Grey Worm had to pry his body out of her arms.”

“So the blood?” Jon asks.

“Isn’t hers,” Missandei assures him, “but she fell off Drogon. The mid,” she stops and catches herself “the healer is checking over her now.” Jon either doesn’t notice the slip or is too concerned about hearing of her fall to think about what she meant.

“Is she hurt?”

“She isn’t bleeding,” Missandei murmurs. 

Bleeding?

They had already established the blood wasn’t hers. Why was that important? If she had fallen off her dragon he would have been more concerned about broken bones. Not necessarily bleeding. That was more likely to come from a blade than a fall. 

“Will you tell her….” Jon trails off not knowing what exactly he wants to say at this time. He had ignored her for weeks. What could he possibly say to her now to make up for that?

“I will not be your messenger just because you are too much of a coward to face her, Jon Snow. If you have the courage, walk in there and tell her yourself.” And with that Missandei storms off. Grey Worm and the healer leave soon after, both glaring at Jon on their way out and following where Missanedi went. 

He was a coward. He had avoided her for months because he was too scared to tell her his true parentage and too ashamed by their shared blood. And then he fucked it up by telling her right before the most important fight of their lives. 

He slumps against the wall, too overwhelmed to hold himself up any longer, and buries his head in his hands.

The war had been won, but Jon Snow was utterly defeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok because you all asked so nicely I decided to continue this. I know this is not what most of you wanted but I promise that is coming next chapter, which is already written, it just needs a massive edit. Chapter 4 will be short and unnecessary and is still in my mind but I hope to get that done soon. And then Chapter 5 has been sitting in the notes on my phone since shortly after season 7 ended. 
> 
> Now for some housekeeping. The title of this will have to change since it doesn’t really make sense anymore with the continuation of this story. I haven’t thought of one yet but will get it before uploading the next chapter. So if you enjoyed this and want to keep reading maybe bookmark it so you know when the new chapters are up. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and sticking around.


	3. An overdue conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys have a long-overdue conversation about the secret he has been hiding and one of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get started I want to apologize for the whiplash this chapter might give you. There are a lot of small flashbacks because there’s a lot about the show I would want to change but I don’t have the patience or creativity to write the events full chapters.

Daenerys was exhausted. 

She presumes fighting a war could do that to a person, but it was more than just physical. Emotionally and mentally she had had enough. 

She looks around the room at everyone celebrating and having a joyous time and doesn't understand how they can all be so happy. 

They were drunk, she supposed, that was part of it, but hadn't they all lost someone? The Free Folk, her Unsullied and Dothraki, thousands of Northmen dead, Jamie Lannister was gone, unclear if he was dead or missing, even the Starks who had lost Bran, seemed to be enjoying the moment. Meanwhile, she couldn’t get the thoughts out of her head of Ser Jora dying in her arms.

Their plan actually hadn’t been bad, but there was no way to account for the sheer number of undead soldiers. With Viserion at the Night King’s control, there was no way to send out scouts to assess the army’s size, but with the accounts from the Wight Mission, and Bran’s reports they knew they were fucked in terms of numbers. 

The barricade they had built held off the Army of the dead for as long as it could, while the catapults and Daenerys and Jon on top of the dragons did a significant amount of damage. Then the two deep and wide trenches held the dead back while the archers shot them down one by one. This lasted until the bodies just started piling on each other forming a bridge of corpses. And that’s when the infantry of Unsullied and Northmen on the front lines stepped in. The Dothraki waited in the wings, riding in on their horses and laying waste to the wights when they could, but very quickly the living was outnumbered ten to one. They had won in the end but at such a high cost. 

Daenerys tries to listen to the conversation around her to pull her out of her own thoughts. Tormund was making some ridiculous notion about Jon climbing on a dragon, apparently forgetting he himself had once done the same thing. 

She had already honored Arya as the Hero of Winterfell after the north sang her own praises. It was nice that they had somewhat recognized her importance. 

She clenched her cup, that no one seemed to notice was full of water instead of wine, and stared down at her full plate. She had taken a few bites when Missandei and Tyrion gave her worried glances, but either her pregnancy or her grief left her without an appetite. 

At least the little baby inside of her was ok. The midwife, Zhalli, had been concerned when Daenerys told her she fell directly onto her stomach when she tumbled off of Drogon, but she had neither cramping nor bleeding since, so everything seemed to be alright. Zhalli had reminded her that until 3 moons miscarriages were not uncommon, but that mark was rapidly approaching. She tried not to get too attached, she had lost Rhaego at full term, but the constant dreams of a little girl with silver curls and stormy gray eyes made it hard for her to not hope. 

For the safety of the baby, she was instructed to rest and did for part of the morning, but after a few fitful hours of sleep, she needed to do something to make her feel useful. 

Under the watchful eye of Missandei, Daenerys headed into the Great Hall, where the wounded were being tended to. She was sat in a chair and handed gauze to wrap wounds and spent the better part of her afternoon patching up the injured. 

Daenerys looks next to her to say something to Missandei, but the chair is empty. Missandei and Gray Worm had gone off to bed a while ago. 

Deciding she’s had enough, Daenerys gets up, not sparing a glance at the Starks next to her, and leaves, missing Jon’s longing gaze as she walks out of the dining hall. 

When she arrives at her room she leaves the door open behind her for a second longer as Ghost silently pads his way in. She needn’t look behind her to know he was there, it was a routine they had gone through since she first arrived at Winterfell. The wolf had hardly left her side since she stepped off the ship. 

He stops when he reaches her and gives her stomach a little sniff then nuzzles against her. 

“You knew there was a baby in there this whole time, didn’t you, Ghost?” She says affectionately to the wolf, giving him a quick scratch behind the ear, and a pat on his head. 

She climbs on the bed knowing she should undress and take her hair down, but she’s too tired and her sleep is restless anyway. She’ll be awakened by nightmares in a couple of hours, so she pulls the furs over her and lets her hand dangle off the side of her bed to bury in Ghost’s fur as she drifts off to sleep. 

Daenerys can’t tell how long she’s been asleep before the sound of her door unlatching wakes her. She panics for a second, her heart racing, her half-asleep mind registers brief flashes of dead men with piercing blue eyes running towards her, until she notices Ghost is completely undisturbed. 

It must be Missandei coming in to check on her. 

She takes her time sitting up, trying to fight down the nausea that comes every time she wakes these days. 

The room is dim and cool, the candles burnt down to little stubs and the fire in the hearth all but gone out - apart from the last few glowing embers. She had slept longer than she thought, remembering she’s still in her day clothes. 

She rubs the sleep out of her eyes to adjust to the dim light and quickly realizes it isn’t Missandei entering her room. 

Her heart sinks. 

She can feel his presence before she fully knows it is him. She has always been able to tell when he is close by, even on Dragonstone when she knew he was watching her watch her children. That feels like ages ago. 

“Dany?” He says, her name slightly slurred on his tongue. 

For so long she hated that name. Even when Viserys was sweet to her there was something so sinister about it. It had taken her aback the first time Jon called her that on the ship back from White Harbor. Too familiar and too threatening to force her to address how it made her feel. She had asked him not to call her that and he did his best at first. 

But then he kept slipping when his head was too clouded with lust and soaked in pleasure to utter such a long foreign name. The few times he realized he was doing it he would murmur his apologies into her neck, followed by a kiss or two and then it would lead them right back to where they started, tripping over her full name as he slid inside her, and with each thrust chanting it like a prayer. 

She started to realize she liked the sound of it in his thick northern accent. It gave entirely new meaning to the name Viserys once called her. 

But that was then. Before he abandoned her. Since then he had lost the right to call her that intimate name.

“What are you doing in here?” She snaps harsher than she means to. She always had a short fiery temper, but maybe Tyrion was right about the baby making it harder for her to control. 

“I wanted to see you.” He says sheepishly. He walks closer, closing the door behind him. 

He hasn’t been in her room since their first night in Winterfell.

He had snuck out of his own room down the hall and into hers. They had spent every night together since stepping on the boat from Dragonstone, and while she wasn’t sure her affair with Jon had ever been secret, it had never been publicly addressed. They had agreed to stay in their own chambers for at least a short time once reaching Winterfell, but after the day she had, she was glad he came, not sure she would have slept at all if she were apart from him.

The weight of the Night King taking Viserion finally came down on her, and the resistance she faced from the Northern Lords didn’t help. She wept into his chest that night as he held her in his strong arms. He must have told her a million times how sorry he was.

Finally, the tears stopped and she needed to feel anything other than the overwhelming sadness that had engulfed her. So she kissed him and tugged at his tunic. He asked her if she was sure and waited for her nod of confirmation before pulling her night shift over her head.

They made love that night with the soft roll of his hips against hers, holding her tight against him, whispering encouragement into her ear and wiping away the occasional tear.

It wasn’t like them to be soft and tender while having sex. Usually, it was rough and frantic, exactly what you’d expect from a dragon and a wolf. That night was for comfort more than pleasure. But the feeling of him spilling into her and his breath shuttering against her neck was enough to tip her over the edge. She fell asleep that night safely trapped in his arms, his thumbs tracing random circles on her back and feeling the occasional kiss on her head. She felt loved, and maybe, for the first time, even in this unfamiliar place, she felt at home. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling her out of her memories, but his eyes aren’t on her, they are on the floor, looking away from her, like he has for almost a month now. At least she finally knew why. 

She had gone down in the crypts the night before at the advice of Tyrion to tell Jon she was pregnant. For a moment when he took her in his arms, she had believed everything would be alright. But then he got ahead of her dropping the revelation of his parentage on her like wildfire.

She had been too stunned to speak, or even comment before the horn blew, alerting everyone the Army of the Dead had arrived and the battle was about to begin. 

“About Ser Jorah,” he says, “I should have been the one there fighting to protect you. 

“I don’t need you to protect me.” She snaps at him - the fire rising in her, but as quickly as it ignites, it’s extinguished by the sheepish look in his eyes. 

She swallows hard, not wanting to cry one more time and certainly not in front of him. She had allowed herself to be vulnerable with him before, but not anymore. If what they had between them was shattered and broken she would have to be nothing more than his queen. 

“I’m sorry about Bran,” she says when she’s sure her voice won’t crack. 

“Aye,” he says solemnly, letting out a deep sigh, “I am too, but Bran has been gone for a long time.” 

“Is that all you came to apologize for?” She asks curtly. 

“No,” he admits, “I’m sorry for how I acted, for ignoring you. I should have told you sooner. About Lyanna and Rhaegar” 

“Then why didn’t you?” she snaps.

“I don’t know,” He says, clearly frustrated with himself, tugging at his hair and sitting down unceremoniously at the foot of her bed. “I feel like I don’t know anything anymore, Dany. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know anything about Rhaegar and Lyanna despite knowing who they are to me now. I feel like I never knew Ned. I don’t know how I feel.” He says, his voice getting louder and angrier with each confession. He lets his head fall into his hands, messaging the headache in his temple that just won’t go away. 

She studies him. The strong stubborn warrior she once knew has been reduced to a confused little boy.

“I’m so sorry, Dany.” He whispers. She rolls her eyes at that. Is this all he can say now? I’m sorry and you’re my queen?

“My whole life I thought I was a bastard.” He continues, the word bastard still said with so much venom. 

“I was so angry. At Ned for lying to me my whole life, at Catelyn for hating me for no reason since I wasn’t a product of my father's infidelity. For longing for my mother my whole life only to be told who she was and then hating her for running away with a married man and starting this stupid war in the first place. It was all built on lies. So I pushed you away because I was hurt. 

I at least knew how to be a Stark,” he continues, “but then Bran told me I was a Targaryen, and I was in love with my aunt. I didn’t know who I was Dany.”

“Just because you are a Targaryen by blood doesn’t mean you’re not a Stark. You can be both. Or neither. It doesn’t matter Jon. These names and titles don't mean anything. I never cared that you were a Snow. Neither did the North.” If she were going to truly break the wheel all of that would have to stop meaning so much. Binding people to names they didn’t want or deserve and holding them in social ranks they were born into and would die in. 

“They chose me as King because I was somewhat of a Stark,” he scoffs. 

“No they didn’t,” she says firmly and seriously - needing him to believe her and finally start to let go of his bastard status. “They chose you because you are a good man. Who cares about protecting his people.” 

“I shouldn't have kept this from you,” he whispers again. 

“No you shouldn’t have,” she sighs. Knowing there is nothing she can do about it now, they both need to move past this.

“Does it bother you?” she asks. “Our shared blood? Is being related really that bad?” She questions, using all of her willpower to refrain from reaching out to touch and comfort him. 

“How does it not affect you?” He asks, pulling his head from his hands and turning to face her. 

She shuffles towards him on the bed and cups his face in her hands, her restraint gone the moment she looks into his stormy gray eyes. 

“You’re a Targaryen, Jon. It’s in our blood. Targaryens have married brother to sister for centuries. My parents, your grandparents, were brother and sister. I spent my whole childhood thinking I would marry Viserys and wishing Rhaegar’s son had lived so I could marry him instead. And here you are. The son no one knew about.”

“But I wasn’t raised as a Targaryen. I was raised as a Stark. And Starks don’t do that,” he tells her but doesn’t flinch or look away this time. 

“Were Richard and Lyarra Stark not cousins?” She asks, her eyebrows raising in question, “Sansa told me she was once betrothed to her cousin Robin Arryn. Is cousin that different from aunt and nephew?” 

He drops her gaze and she drops his face from her hands. His eyebrows are furrow as he tries to work his way through her words. He sighs again and this time buries his head into her lap.

He had only done that once before, been this vulnerable to her. It was on the ship when she asked him to tell her about his childhood and family. He told her about what it was like to grow up as a bastard, surrounded by siblings whose mother loved them but hated him. And how he never let anyone see, but he wept for the mother he never knew. Afterward, it was late, and he laid his head in her lap. Nights before she had told him a similar story, about yearning for the mother she never had.

“The damage is already done.” She says when his forehead bumps against her belly. 

He makes no attempt to move so she undoes the tie that keeps his wild curls pulled back and brushes her fingers through his hair.

This goes on for a while. Soothing and familiar. 

“I really don’t know anything.” He grumbles to himself, sounding more annoyed than confused this time and crosses his arms and huffs like a disappointed child. 

“I know that I love you,” she whispers to him and he shifts, sitting up so he’s looking at her. It takes everything to keep from losing herself in his stormy eyes. 

He puts his hand on the small of her back and she tries not to melt into his touch. But they’re so close. He pulls her closer and she’s flush against him. His face so close to hers she can feel the small puffs of his breath. She holds his gaze, trying to read what’s going on in his mind, but all she can think about are his lips. 

“Is that alright?” She asks, and his eyelids flutter. It’s like she can hear his thoughts as she looks into his eyes. 

Is that alright?

The question is echoing in his head and he’s desperately trying to figure it out. 

She knows it can’t be longer than a moment or two, but it feels like an eternity as he searches for his answer.

Finally, he succumbs to some kind of curiosity and kisses her, hoping the answer lies within the feeling of his lips pressed against hers.

Both of his hands fall to the small of her back. One of hers finds his hip, the other the back of his neck.

She isn’t sure who initiates it further, he isn’t sure either, but the kiss grows heated, and all of a sudden his tongue is pushing against her lips, demanding access to her mouth. His hand travels up to her neck, and his thumb is brushing her cheek.

It’s almost too much for her to handle. It feels too real. She needs to know if it is, but she can’t with all this leather in between them. Her hands move to his belt. She wants it off and is hasty in her attempt. She’s relieved when he finds the collar of her dress. His haste to have her naked seems as much as hers with him.

But then as soon as it starts, it stops. 

He’s the one who breaks the kiss. That she’s sure of.

She’s hurt. Her eyes are filled with so much pain and confusion as she looks at him silently begging for answers. 

He can’t even look at her. 

He stares at the floor instead. He looks as confused as she feels. But he gives her no explanation. He glances up at her for a moment before quickly turning away from her and drops his head in his hands again and lets out a frustrated groan.

It’s enough to make her feel like he’s just stabbed her in the heart. 

“Do you not love me?” she asks, her heart breaking. 

He quickly turns back around to look at her and takes her hand in his, “Dany, the gods themselves couldn’t stop me from loving you.”

His head goes back into her lap and she resumes pulling her fingers through his curls like she was doing before. 

“Tell me then,” she says softly, “why you fell in love with me. Why you came to my door on the ship that first night at sea.” 

“I’ve already told you that,” he grumbles into her lap.

“Tell me again then,” she says and tugs at his hair so he’s forced to look at her. His stormy eyes are filled with hurt and confusion. She wonders if her violet eyes reflect the same. 

“Remind me,” she whispers. 

Remind yourself, she wants to add. 

“I guess,” he starts, his head still in her lap, his words slightly muffled against her skirts, “it all started at Dragonstone, the first time I saw you. I grew up hearing tales of Targaryens and what they look like, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.” 

“And what was that?” she asks, her fingers still brushing through his wild locks.

“I was expecting someone taller. Not someone as small, nor as beautiful as you,” he admits.

His confession makes her smile. “I was expecting someone taller as well. And not nearly as pretty as you.”

“Why must everyone insist on calling me pretty?” Jon groans.

It makes her chuckle. “Go on then.” 

“And on the steps, when I saw you watching your dragons. We spoke about losing our brothers and I realized we might have more in common than I thought.” He stiffens for a moment and she thinks he might pull away, but he stops himself. “I didn’t think we’d have this much in common,” he huffs. 

“Shhh. We aren’t thinking of that.” She pushes his curls out of his eyes. “Tell me more of the cliff.”

“I tried to be diplomatic, “he states, “but the second you told me you’d allow me to mine the dragon glass I knew I was a goner.” 

“I was very confused as to why you were so insistent on mining glass, “she says with a slight chuckle. 

“Aye. I suppose without believing in the White Walkers you would be.” He moves his head from her lap and takes both her hands in his but keeps his eyes fixed on them. 

“The cave was the first time I wanted to kiss you. I was absolutely terrified but I knew I was in love with you,” he confesses. 

“I wore gray for you that day. I think that’s what I started to realize I was in love with you as well.” She says, giving him a sad smile. “But if you were frightened of me in the cave I can’t imagine what you thought of me on the beach,” her tone is teasing, but she knows it’s true. 

She can see him smile as he recalls her temper on the beach. “I had never been so attracted to and scared of a woman at the same time.” 

“You probably saved thousands of people from being burned by my dragons and I that day.” She worries about that sometimes. Her fiery temper. The Targaryen madness, and how far she might take it someday if there’s no one left to stop her. 

“No.” He looks at her now with his serious stormy eyes.

“Even without me, you wouldn’t have done it. You have a good heart. You aren’t a monster, you save people from them. And you’re willing to listen to someone when you can’t see another way. That’s how I knew you’d make a good queen.” 

She gives him a sad smile and he continues but drops his gaze back to her hands. 

“After you went for the Lannister armies I was so relieved to see you fly back on Drogon. I never wanted to stop looking at you on the cliff.”

He doesn’t bring up his first impression of Jorah, and for that she’s grateful. 

They sit in silence for a second and toys with the ring that she never takes off. It was her mother’s ring, she once told him. The only thing she has left of her. 

He wonders if he should give her a ring when he marries her. And then he wonders where that thought comes from. He would have to ask her first. And then she would have to agree. 

“And then you went on that stupid mission north of The Wall,” her voice brings him out of his thoughts.

“Aye l. I did. I would be dead right now if it weren’t for you. We’d all be dead. The White Walkers would have marched on Winterfell and killed everyone here.”

“At least someone recognizes it,” she says, unable to mask the annoyance in her voice.

He gives her hand a squeeze. He should have spoken up for her tonight. He silently vows to himself that he’ll never fail her like that again. 

“Davos tells me you waited for me on top of the Wall. For hours in the cold.” 

“Aye.” She says imitating his accent and he flashes a smile so quickly she would have missed it if she blinked. “I suppose by that time I had fallen in love with you as well.” 

Heroes who do stupid things, she had once told Tyrion. 

“And once we were on that boat to White Harbor, nothing in all of Westeros and Essos could have stopped me from knocking on your door.” 

“I’m glad you did.” She says. He looks back up at her and she leans in, her lips barely brushing his, giving him one of the most gentle chaste kisses they have ever shared. 

“I still love you,” he whispers to her. 

He kisses her back. It’s just another peck on the lips, but it’s something. And she hopes it’s enough. 

And it seems to be because after the first peck he’s leaving in for another, and then another. By the third kiss his hand finds his way into her hair and then he’s holding her there. She slips her tongue out to brush against his lips and he opens his mouth for her. The two of them moaning through the kiss that grows more and more heated by the second. 

His hands go for the clasps in the front of her dress first and he makes quick work of it before she shrugs it off her shoulders. 

By the time he’s freed all the clasps, she’s loosened his doublet enough to tug it off. He’s left in his tunic and breeches, and she in her shift and leggings. 

Jon lowers his mouth to her neck and starts placing open mouth kisses on her throat. The laces of his breeches are loose enough now that she can sneak her hand in. He groans when she cups his heavy groin in her hand. 

He makes quick work to tug down her leggings removing them and her boots as quickly as he can. All hesitation from before forgotten. 

His kisses on her skin are enough to distract her, and all of a sudden they are both naked and his hand moves to palm her breast. 

She moans into his mouth when he gives it a squeeze, and she can feel him twitch in her hand. 

She wonders if he could tell that her breasts have gotten bigger and heavier - something Missandei noticed the other day when Daenerys complained about how sore and tender they were as her friend struggled to lace up her gown. 

If he does notice he doesn’t let on and soon his hand is replaced by his mouth. He’s gentle while circling his tongue around her nipple until it pebbles into a peak. The sensation makes her moan and she’s enjoying it despite their sensitivity until he gives her beast a firm suck and she takes a sharp breath. 

“Sorry,” mumbles against her chest, and kisses the abused flesh before moving to the other to give it the same attention. 

He’s more gentle with her and for that she’s grateful. By the time he continues his journey south, she’s writhing beneath him, pressing her thighs together to try and alleviate some of the pressure between them. 

His kisses make it to her navel and he pauses. 

He must notice by now. 

Her usually flat abdomen is slightly swollen as if she had eaten a large dinner. Of course, she had hardly eaten anything over the past few nights and was only able to stomach a few bites of bread and cheese Tyrion had coaxed into her earlier that day. The bump is easily hidden by her skirts and heavy winter coat, but now in full display for the man who has spent hours exploring, kissing, and caressing every inch of her body over the past few weeks. 

Her breath catches in her throat when he places a lingering kiss above her womb, but he doesn’t say anything, only focusing on nudging her legs apart. 

She opens up willingly, never ashamed of her body or desire for sex, but he doesn’t give her what she wants. He takes his time kissing up and down her legs, driving her crazy. His broad shoulders between her legs prevent her from finding any kind of relief.

“Jon,” she says sternly.

He smirks. She had never begged for him, and he doesn’t think she ever will. Not to anyone and not for anything. Even in bed, she doesn’t let her queenly demur fall and she always demands what she wants. 

Not one to deny her, he gives up and stops teasing. He licks, nips, and sucks where she needs him until she’s moaning his name. He thinks he could stay between her legs all day, but then she’s tugging on his hair, a familiar action she uses when she wants him up. 

He takes his time coming back up to her. Tracing and relearning her body with his lips. By the time he faces her she’s still panting, cheeks flushed and eyes so dilated he can hardly see the violet of her irises. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to her, gently tracing her lips with his fingers. 

“I need you,” she says, panting. She wraps her legs around his waist, locking him in place. A small part of her fears that he might try to run away. “Inside me. Now.” She says, grabbing hold of him. 

He groans at the feel of her firm grasp, but nods his head and wraps his hand around hers, and together he gently pushes into her. 

She cries out in relief at the feeling of having him inside of her again. 

With every thrust she feels like it’s going to be too much, but then he’s murmuring how much he loves her, how sorry he is, and his fingers lace with hers, holding onto her, grounding her. 

She’s whispering to him too - how she loves him despite all of this but demanding he never leave her again. She whispers that, jumbled in with a string of curses in valyrian. 

His pace grows frantic and she knows he’s close. It’s so reminiscent of their first night on the boat. Their primal need to be close, to touch, and feel good. There would be time for comfort later. She hopes. 

As his thrusts grow uneven and his breath shutters against her neck, Jon reaches down between them, and then Dany is coming too. 

They hold each other close as they ride out their highs. 

Jon lies on top of her for a few moments. Whispering that he loves her between kisses across her face. 

When his thumbs start to brush against her cheeks, she realizes he’s wiping away her tears. 

With a groan, he pulls out but doesn’t leave her for a second - collecting her against his chest in his strong arms. 

“I missed you,” Jon whispers against her neck. And she can feel his warm breath and chapped lips against her skin. 

“Then don’t leave me ever again,” Daenerys retorts. 

They kiss a while longer, hands roaming and reacquainting themselves with each other. His kisses eventually lead down her neck, and after he sucks on her collarbone he moves to her chest. She has to stop him before he gets too far, or this will never end. And Daenerys still has something important to say. 

She turns around and straddles him, causing him to groan, but it’s quickly swallowed by her mouth on his. It doesn’t take long for his tongue to find hers and his hands hold her hips. She’s waiting for any sign that he knows. To trail his hand in front of her and smooth them over her belly. But instead, his hands move from her waist to her backside where he gives a gentle squeeze. 

She breaks the kiss then, the adorable confused look on his face makes her smile as anticipation and excitement begins to bubble up inside of her, now that she’s about to share her little secret. 

“You really didn’t notice, did you?” Daenerys asks with a teasing grin. 

His brows furrow a little more. “Notice what?” he asks. 

“You were right. Back in the dragon pit. About the witch.” 

She takes his hand and places it in her belly. The swell, though slight, is so obvious to her she doesn’t know how he missed it. 

“She wasn’t a reliable source of information.” 

He’s confused at first, then shocked as the realization starts to creep on him, then a thousand emotions cross his face as he starts to understand what she is saying to him. 

“Dany,” Jon says letting out a breath, fingers flexing against the hard swell of her stomach as he finally realizes. “Are you?”

“Mmmhhh,” she said, breaking into a grin so big it crinkles the corner of her eye, all fear, and hesitation of telling him gone. “I’m with child,” she says, her voice breaking slightly as she finally says it out loud to him. 

“You’re going to have a babe?” He whispers and sits up so he’s eye level with him. 

She smiles more at his goofy smile. She can tell he’s in complete shock by her revelation. “Yes. We’re going to have a baby. Our babe. You’re going to be a father, Jon.” 

His look of shock goes to horror in an instant. 

“But Dany, you fell!” He says his breath quickening, going into a panic. 

She pressed his hand a little harder against her stomach, wishing they could feel the life flutter between them. She leans in and kisses his worried brow before he spirals. 

“It’s ok,” she whispers, her free hand going to bury into his curls, pressing their foreheads together, the other one still holding his palm firmly against her belly. “There’s no sign that I’ve lost it, Jon.” 

It’s his turn to let out a tear, that Dany kisses away as it tracks down his face. “I never thought I’d be a father,” Jon whispers to her, his eyes still firmly on her midsection. 

“I know,” she whispers back, “I never thought I’d be a mother again. There’s still a chance I lose her,” she says, her voice getting caught in her throat, “and I tried not to get too attached, but I want her Jon. I really really want her.” 

“Her?” He asks, his cloudy eyes now locking with her, and gives her a teary questioning smile.

“Just a feeling,” she says. 

“Gods, Dany.” Jon lets out an exasperated sigh and gathers her against his chest. Holding her tight and close to him, so he can kiss her hair, her neck, her cheeks, and finally her lips. “A babe,” he says, his voice full of wonder like he doesn’t quite believe it yet. 

Then in an instant, a wave of realization crashes and his body goes rigid. He holds Dany’s by the shoulders and pushes her out so he can look into her eyes. He’s serious and frightened and for a moment she’s afraid he’s going to run away again. 

“Dany,” he whispers like he’s afraid someone is going to hear him, “I can’t bring a bastard into this world.” 

“One thing at a time, Jon Snow,” she whispers back and kisses him as assurance. “We’ll talk about that in the morning,” she promises him and falls back into his embrace. “And that was hardly a proposal,” she says and he doesn’t have to look at her to know there’s a teasing grin on her face. 

He holds her for a moment longer, her head resting against his shoulder until she yawns. 

“You should get some rest,” he says kissing her head. 

“Will you stay?” She asks, her hand coiling around his wrist. 

“I’m never leaving again,” he vows and they both lie down so he’s spooning her. Her back pressed tightly against his front, and his hand cupping her belly. 

“I love you,” he says while pulling the furs over them. “Both of you,” he adds with a kiss to her neck. 

“We love you too,” she mumbles, already drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for hanging in there with me. Originally I had this scene pretty similar to how it played out in the show, but then I thought about how Dany carried the whole weight of Season 8 on her shoulders so the least Jon could do is come to her to apologize. 
> 
> I am excited, after over a year of playing out in my head how I would want it to have happened, to finally get it out of my brain. And hope it comes as a comfort to others who were so disappointed by the last season. 
> 
> Thank you for all of your lovely comments. I hope everyone is staying safe out there.
> 
> PS we still don't have a title change so it might just stay what it is.


	4. If you'll have me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon checks on his family and has an important question to ask Daenerys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry about how long this took.

The first night was a blessing. 

Sometime well into the morning, apparent by the dim low hanging sun, but still high for winter's standards, Jon begins to stir from his slumber. 

Every part of him aches as a side effect from the recently fought war - the screaming of his sore and tired muscles, the pounding of his head, the grogginess he feels after a long much-needed sleep, even though he still feels bone tired.

Jon tries to ignore it all, burying further into the furs and soft feather mattress. The disorientation starts to lift when he recognizes the familiar scent of lemons and exotic Essosi spices. He thinks it must be another taunting dream, he's dreamt of her almost every night in Winterfell, but then he rubs his eyes and gives a sigh of relief when he realizes it isn't a dream. Daenerys is very much next to him and naked in his bed. 

No. 

Her bed. 

He went to her. It was the least he could do, finally giving her a long-overdue explanation of his poor behavior over the past few weeks. 

He lies next to her, both of them still on their sides and he silently takes her in. It feels as if he is waking up next to her for the first time again, as it did their first morning on the boat when he marveled at her and felt it to be impossible that they were lying together in her bed. 

Even after waking up next to her dozens of times since the novelty hasn't worn off. What could he have possibly done for the gods to allow him this, or has he finally gone through enough that they've given mercy on him? 

Maybe, he thinks, he can finally allow himself to believe that he deserves this happiness she brings him. 

She, and soon the babe. 

A little impossible thing they created together, stemmed from a lot of love, desire, and maybe a little recklessness. 

During their second coupling on the boat, Jon had enough forethought to pull out of her just in time to spill on Daenerys' stomach. She gave him a confused look while he apologized profusely for not being as careful the night before. She was a Queen and they were headed into war. He was only a bastard and he wouldn't put another one on her hands. 

First, she scolded him. For thinking so poorly of himself. He was more than a stupid prejudice that people held against him for a fault that was entirely someone else's. He was a Lord, at once a King, and above all of that, he was a good man. 

She was ready to scold him for suggesting their child would ever be a bastard, but she didn't allow herself to even consider a child as a possibility. Instead, with tearful words, she reassured him of what she confessed to him in the Dragonpit. She can't have children, so he needn't worry. And she quite liked the feeling of him spilling inside of her. 

And who was he to deny her that? 

So they continued their affair, filling her with all he had, and while he never mentioned it out loud, he was desperate to prove her wrong. 

And somewhere along the way, he did just that. 

His seed took root and now his babe was growing inside the woman he loves. It makes him slightly anxious to think about since they are not married yet, but as she said last night, there is time for that. 

When Jon notices Daenerys starting to stir he places little kisses on her neck. She loved waking up like that on the boat, and he is determined to make up for lost time. 

"Good morning," Jon mumbles into her hair, but she doesn't utter it back which surprises him.

"Daenerys?" he questions. 

He raises on one elbow, so he can look at her better and notices her eyes are squeezed shut and she is taking slow deep breaths. 

"Are you alright?" he thinks of ways to soothe her, but before he can come up with any, her hand flutters giving him a quick flick of her wrist as if telling him to back off. 

"Jon, just," she says through gritted teeth and a big breath not being about to finish her sentence. 

He doesn't move, he doesn't even breathe in case the rise and fall of his chest is too much movement for her. He watches her in silence as she continues to breathe deeply. He thinks she is trying to fight down nausea. 

When her hand flies to cover her mouth it is apparent her breathing technique hasn't worked and she throws herself off the bed. Her knees hit the stone floor hard. Luckily the beds in Winterfell are all close to the ground to keep from too much cold air mixing under the mattress, so she doesn't fall far. 

Jon scrambles off the bed with her and grabs her hair just in time to pull it away from her face as she starts retching into a wastebasket next to her bed. 

He holds her hair and rubs her back in what he hopes in a comforting motion while she throws up. 

When she's done, Dany sits back and Jon hands her a cloth to wipe her mouth with.

"Thank you," she mumbles, taking the cloth as she leans against the bed frame, pulling her knees up to her chest and shivering in the cold. 

Jon moves the wastebasket away from her and pulls a fur down to keep her warm while she sits on the cold stone floor. 

"Are you ok? Should I get a Maester?" He asks, draping his arm around her and pulling her close so he can kiss her hair. 

"No," she sighs letting her head fall onto his shoulder, "This is just one of the joys of pregnancy. The midwife will probably be in soon to check on me. I think I will sit here for a little while until I feel better." 

Jon gives her an understanding nod and slips his hand under the fur to place it on the tiny bump where their child grows. 

"I need you to stop making your Mama sick, little one." He says while rubbing his thumb up and down Dany's warm skin. 

When he looks back up at her she's beaming but Jon can tell she's holding back tears too. Even with her cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, and forehead coated in a light sheen of sweat, she looks beautiful. 

"Let me get you some water," Jon says, standing and quickly grabbing the wastebasket to set it aside in the hallway where someone will take care of it. 

He takes a light robe to her that he helps her slip on, tugs on his trousers, and grabs some water before joining her back on the floor. 

After a few sips, Dany says she feels better and Jon helps her back in bed.

Not quite ready to start his day yet, he gets back on the bed too and is about to join her under the furs when there is a soft knock at the door. 

Jon groans and flops down next to her anyway, slinging his arm over her middle. 

"We must get up my love," she whispers to him with a slight giggle. 

Jon lets out an exasperated sigh as if she's asked something unreasonable of him. "Fine," he mumbles, but hovers over her for a second, placing a soft kiss on her pillowy lips. 

Daenerys straightens her robe while Jon pulls on a tunic and goes to open the door. He isn't surprised to see Missandei standing on the other side of it, but she is certainly surprised to see him. 

It takes a moment, but her wide eyes and high brows slowly fall into somewhat of a scowl. 

Jon understands why Daenerys's best friend doesn't fully trust him yet. It would take time to earn back her and Grey Worm's trust. The two are fiercely loyal and protective of Daenerys, Jon respects and admires that about them. 

"Well, look who finally gathered up the courage to face our Queen," Missandei ridicules. "It looks like you had a good night," she says while nodding at the top hem of his tunic. Jon doesn't have to look in a mirror to know that the pale skin of his collarbone is riddled with little bite marks Daenerys left on him from the night before. 

"Looks like you had a good night too," Jon says, raising his eyebrows to the dark purple hickey on Missandei's neck. 

Missandei gasps as her hand flies to cover the mark on her neck, "I told him not to leave any marks," Missandei mumbles, and Jon chuckles. 

"Daenerys," Missandei says, walking past Jon and into the room with a tray of bread and fruit in hand that she sets on the bedside table. "Zhalli wants to look over you, she's waiting outside. Do you want Jon to leave?" She asks her in High Valyrian, just in case Dany hasn't told Jon of the baby yet. 

"No it's fine, I'd like him to stay," she says in Common Tongue for him, "He knows," she gives him a smile that he returns. 

"Well," Missandei says, turning to face Jon again, "Congratulations, Kepa." This time she does give him a warm smile. 

Daenerys tried to teach him some simple phrases and a few words in Valyrian on the boat to Winterfell and Jon failed miserably at learning anything useful enough to converse with her Unsullied. But two words stuck with him, Muña and Kepa. He'd hardly dared to wish for it but he held onto those two words hoping one day they'd mean something more to him and Daenerys. 

Like before when he called Dany 'Mama', he gets slightly teary-eyed at his new title, but quickly covers it with a cough and what he hopes looks like an attempt to rub the fatigue from his eyes. 

Missandei ushers in the midwife who gives Daenerys a kind smile before launching into a series of questions in Dothraki. Jon sits by Daenerys' side holding her hand and listens but not understanding a thing. 

Jon starts to fidget the longer the questions go on, knowing nothing about pregnancy and getting nervous about how many questions there can be. Missandei, who is listening intently to the conversation, notices his growing concern as he starts playing with Daenerys fingers in the hand he holds and gives Jon a reassuring smile. 

After some more back and forth between Zhalli, Daenerys, and Missandei the midwife stands and Daenerys turns back to Jon while Zhalli goes to wash her hands in the water basin Daenerys keeps in her room. 

"She has to do a physical exam just to make sure everything is ok," Daenerys explains to Jon, "Do you want to stay?"

"Do you want me to stay?" Jon asks, giving her hand a little squeeze. 

Daenerys gives him a timid smile and nods. Jon smiles back and leans in to kiss her forehead before she scoots to lie down on the bed. 

The midwife and Missandei come back to the bed and Missandei drapes a sheet over Dany's lap after Dany unties her robe. 

Jon sits next to Dany holding her hand and patiently wonders what's going on while the midwife asks Daenerys a question every now and then while feeling around her stomach. Half of the questions seem to be directed to Daenerys while at other times she seems to be explaining to Missandei what she's doing. 

Jon starts to regret his decision to stay and tightens his grip on Dany's hand when she repositions herself so her knees are up and feet flat on the bed. Dany chuckles at his obvious discomfort as the midwife's hand disappears under the sheet that is draped over Dany's lap. Jon in return turns bright red and looks anywhere other than at Dany, despite the sheet preventing him from seeing anything. 

"You do know where babies come from, don't you?" Dany asks him with a teasing grin. 

"I know where they come from." Jon gruffs and continues to look away. 

"Baby ok." The midwife says, after several agonizing moments for Jon while he uncomfortably sits by.

She gives Dany a sharp look and commands her to rest, and Jon knows that is spoken in common tongue for his benefit as well as her own. 

"I will," Dany grumbles.

She sits back up against the headboard and readjusts her robe while the midwife leaves and Missandei mummers something about checking on Grey Worm. 

After walking them out of the room Jon returns to the bed with Daenerys. He lies on his side and his hand finds its way into her robe again, placing it gently on her belly where their child grows. 

"Missandei seemed to have a lot of questions," Jon says, thinking back on the exam and trying to understand what was discussed. 

"I asked Zhelli to teach her everything she needs to know about pregnancy and childbirth. I want Missandei to be able to help deliver the baby, and know what to do if something happens to Zhelli. I won't have someone I don't trust deliver my baby again." 

Jon holds her a little tighter at the mention of her lost son. 

"How far along are you?" He asks, placing a chaste kiss behind her ear. 

"The midwife thinks I could be nine weeks, nearing ten, based on the time of my last cycle and the size of this little bump," she says, pushing Jon's hand down a little harder against her belly.

The journey to Winterfell was long.

For a little over a month they were on that glorious ship from Dragonstone to White Harbor where Jon and Daenerys stole away every free moment they had. To be perfectly honest it would have been a dull journey without each other to enjoy during the moments with nothing to do. And there were many. Only so many times could they bear to listen to Tyrion go on and on about the plan they set in motion and knew by heart. 

It took them two weeks on the King's road, and then over three weeks in Winterfell preparing and waiting for the Army of the Dead to come. The greater part of that time he spent ignoring her. 

"Ten weeks," He says, counting the days in his head, "That must have been our first night on the ship then." 

"It is possible," she hums. 

He smirks at the memory. They easily fell into bed together a hundred times over those 30 plus days. At any point in the first few days, even week, his seed could have taken root. It didn't so much matter to him, and he doesn't dare dwell on prophecies as Rhaegar had, but Jon does wonder what kind of magic in them lead to the little baby being conceived on their first night. 

"Will you tell your sisters?" Daenerys questions, burying further into his embrace. 

"About the babe?" he asks distractedly, "I suppose we'll have to, at some point you're going to start to show."

"About your true parentage," she says hesitantly, "About us."

He pulls her a little closer and gruffs as if that's enough of an answer for her. 

"Who else knows?" She asks gently. 

"Just you and I. Sam and Bran knew, but they're both gone now." 

He loved his brother and best friend, but a dark uncertain part of him almost thinks it is for the better they died. Sam has been consumed with rage over Daenerys executing his brother and father. Telling him the truth of his parentage did nothing but tear him and Dany apart. It had yet to bring him comfort like he always thought it would - knowing who his mother was. Instead, it instilled in him a sort of rage for Rhaegar and Lyanna. 

How many thousands of people died because of his parents' clandestine love? 

His half-siblings he never met, brutally murdered. Queen Elia who he'd only ever heard was good and kind, raped and murdered. All three of his brothers, murdered. His sisters were still here but forced to endure terrible things he does like to think about. And Daenerys, forced into exile, raped, sold, and betrayed. 

He turns to the woman in his arms and Aemon's words echo through his head. 

We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love.

Would he start a war for her? 

Perhaps. 

In fact, wasn't that exactly what he was about to do? 

But not under the terms of infidelity and lust and ridiculous prophecies. 

They would be better about how they ruled: just and honorable. Values they'd instill in their child, who would rule after them. 

They would no longer be motivated by hate and revenge, as were Sam's intentions. He can't speak for his little brother, but Bran must have known what would come by telling Sam. 

"I think you should tell them." Daenerys says, her index finger tracing down his forehead, over his "worry" lines as she often calls them and teases him about. 

"There's time for that," he dismisses, not ready to make a decision yet. For now, they didn't need to know. It's still all too much, he himself only came to terms with it last night after talking to Daenerys. He doesn't need to worry about explaining it to his sisters. And he is unsure of what Sansa will do with that information. 

Plus, there are still so many more pressing matters to talk about. The babe, a marriage, their attack on King's Landing. There's time for that later today, and tomorrow. There isn't as much time as Jon would like but he thinks they can have a few hours before war plans need to be discussed. 

Daenerys nods off a couple of times until her stomach gives a loud growl and she confesses she is starving. 

Jon moves the tray over to her that Missandei brought in earlier, confused to see lemon cakes, an untraditional breakfast food, mixed in with more suitable substitutes. 

"I need to check on my sisters if that's alright," he says, handing her the tray. She gives him an affirmative nod but isn't paying too much attention as she notices the lemon cakes and licks her lips. She grabs it to take a bite and lets out a moan the second it touches her tongue. 

Jon gives her an amused smile that she ignores, too enthralled with her sweet treat to care, and closes her eyes savoring every bite. 

With a confused sigh, he brushes it off and places a quick kiss on the top of her head. "Eat it all." He mumbles into her hair. He's afraid of how little she's been eating their baby hasn't been getting enough food. 

Jon shakes his head and chuckles as he walks out, wondering when he became such a concerned mother hen. 

"We should gather everyone and meet in a few hours." He tells her before walking into her solar and she gives him a distracted nod as she tucks into her plate. 

Jon practically runs into Tyrion in Dany's solar as he exits her chambers. 

"Ah," Tyrion says with a knowing grin, "how is our Queen today?"

Jon sighs, Tyrion had always been nosey when it came to their relationship, especially on the ship. He made it very clear to Daenerys that she needed to think long and hard about who she allowed into her bed if she was to be Queen and needed to make political alliances. Tyrion was against the affair at first, wanting to keep his options open for Daenerys, but Jon suspected there was always something more to it too. 

"She's fine," Jon gruffs, "Eating," he adds with a pleased sigh.

"Well, you must be able to make impossible things happen if you can get her to eat." Tyrion says, "Missandei and I have been trying to get her to do that for days."

"You know?" Jon asks, slightly vexed at himself that Daenerys had to confide in her best friend and Hand instead of the father of her child since he wasn't around. 

Tyrion gives him an affirmative nod, "I know the timing isn't ideal, but congratulations, Jon. I am glad to see you two have made up."

"Thank you," he breathes and isn't able to hide the smile on his face every time he thinks about his child. "She isn't dressed for the day, but I think it would be alright if you provided her with some company while she eats."

Jon says and moves past Tyrion so he Daenerys in her chambers. 

Jon is about to push open the door into the hall when Tyrion calls for him. 

"And Jon," Tyrion says and Jon turns around. "I love this woman very much," he states and Jon's eyes narrow, his fist clenching and he's about to take a step towards him, however, Tyrion cuts him off. 

"No, not like that," he says with an amused shake of his head, "but if you hurt her again, I may be little, but I know enough Valyrian and Dothraki to change the focus of Daenerys forces from Cersei to you." 

The glimmer in Tyrion's eye tells Jon he is joking, but there's something serious in his tone as well. Jon shakes his head at the floor. "You won't have to worry about that," he says, making the promise more to him than anyone else. 

\--

Sansa is easy to find. 

It only takes one knock for Sansa to welcome Jon into her solar where Podrick and Brienne are keeping her company. She is stoic, clearly missing Bran and Jon suspects missing Theon too, but thanks him for checking on her and assures him she is alright. She isn't shaken up like she was the other day, so Jon doesn't linger too long after a quick exchange of words. 

Before he leaves, however, she asks him how Daenerys is. Jon is taken aback that his sister seems to know that he found his way into the Queen's bed last night and that she cares for Daenerys' well being. He put so much effort into avoiding Daenerys that he doesn't know of his sister's interactions with the queen at all, apart from their icy meeting at the gates of Winterfell. 

He supposes if they were to talk, they would find they shared common horrible experiences. He told Daenerys as much in the safety of their bed on the boat without telling her outright what happened to Sansa. It wasn't his story to tell. 

Daenerys told him of the husband she was sold to and how he would rape her repeatedly. He told her he wished he could have beat him nearly to death as he did to Ramsey Bolton. Daenerys didn't have to ask what he did to warrant such a punishment. 

Jon murmurs that Daenerys is well and it's all Sansa needs to confirm her suspicion that the two are mending what they lost. He supposes that he will have to have that discussion with Daenerys sooner rather than later. His sisters will ask questions about what happened between them. 

He shakes that though off. 

His little sister's well being is more important than the sins of Rhaegar and Lyanna at the moment. 

He tells Sansa he will fetch her later for supper and heads off to find Arya. 

Arya, of course, is harder to find. 

He checks her room first. Her bed is unmade and her clothes scattered around the place which confirms she was there but isn't anymore. 

Jon checks with the Maester and healers who haven't seen her since last night. He prays that he doesn't find her in the training yard, and finally, he locates her when one of the Unsullied who speaks a little bit of common tongue suggests he might be able to find her in the forge. 

"Seven hells, Arya," Jon curses when he enters the place to see her sitting on a barrel. She is staring at nothing, looking slightly dazed as she has since finding her in the Godswood, "What are you doing in here?" he scolds her, sounding more like Ned than he is comfortable to admit. 

His little sister looks bad. 

She has a deep bruise blooming across her eye and the right side of her face, and a deep gash on her forehead that has been stitched up. It will probably leave a scar, but unlike his scar by his eye, Arya seemed to be in much better hands with the Dothraki healer who patched her up and gave her some kind of salve to rub on the wound. 

Once he got Arya into bed last night Jon spoke with the Maester who worried she had a head injury. Nothing too serious but something that would be made worse by lack of sleep, too much running around, and loud noises. He wished he knew that before he allowed her to attend such a boisterous celebration last night. Not that if he confined her to bed she would have listened anyway. 

She may have been the Savior of Winterfell but she was still his little sister, and he had lost far too much at this point. 

As idiotic as it sounds she was advised to not think too much. Well, she certainly wasn't thinking if she was running off to the forge for some unknown reason instead of resting in her bed. 

Before Jon can scold her further he's interrupted by a familiar voice using an unfamiliar name. 

"Arry," Gendry calls as Jon can hear the door to the forge open, "got us some food from the kitchens. Kind of both breakfast and dinner stuff. Didn't get you lemon cakes because I remember you don't like" he stops short when he notices Jon standing there. Gendry remains frozen as stone, only his eyes shifting between Jon and Arya. 

Jon's eyes also shift between Arya and Gendry, "You two know each other?" he asks accusingly.

They wouldn't consider themselves particularly close, but Jon and Gendry had developed somewhat of a friendship since meeting in the cave on Dragonstone. Which is why Jon is surprised that Gendry seems to be so terrified of him all of a sudden. 

"We hid from the Lannisters together," Arya says, rolling her eyes as the two men continued to size each other up. 

"Why didn't you tell me you knew my little sister, Gendry?" Jon asks his hand clenching into a fist at his side. 

"Um" Gendry beings, "I guess I forget she's Arya Stark. I knew her mostly as Arry. Hates when I call her a lady." 

Arya rolls her eyes again and hops off the barrel she's sitting on to pluck the tray from Gendry's hands and begins eating. 

"Why do you care who I'm friends with?"

"Because you're my little sister and I need to know who you're spending time with so I can protect you," Jon says sternly.

Arya snorts as she picks up another piece of bread from her tray. "No one's been protecting me for years and I've been fine." She says with a mouth full of food. 

Jon lets out a frustrated sigh. Twice now he's been told by the women he loves they don't need him protecting them. He is going to have all seven hells on his hands if Daenerys' suspension is correct and his baby is a girl and he has a daughter as headstrong as Daenerys and his sisters. 

"Just," Jon says letting out a sigh and shooting one more narrowed glance at Gendry, "be in Daenerys' solar before supper. There are some things we need to discuss." 

She gives him an affirmative nod, and before Jon leaves he calls out to her, "And Arya, this shouldn't be a problem, but try not to think too hard." 

He dodges a roll she throws at his head. 

"Ass" she calls out, and Jon just chuckles before making his way back to Daenerys. 

\--

Supper is a much less boisterous affair than the previous evening. 

The Starks, Daenerys, and their closest advisors gather in a smaller dining room before retiring for the evening. 

The actual war plan will be discussed tomorrow but there is one pressing matter that after a day of searching Daenerys is hoping to have an answer to. 

"What do you mean he's missing?" Daenerys asks, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Is he dead or not?"

So many lives were lost in the battle against the dead. Thousands of men, women, and even children laid on the funeral pyres the next day. When the dead were first collected it looked like they were going to outnumber the living. Jorah, Bran, Varys, even little Lyanna Mormont died bravely. 

So many died in gruesome horrible ways, but even the most mangled bodies were identified and accounted for. 

All except Jamie Lannister. 

"He was probably hurt and ran back to Cersei. I knew we couldn't trust him." Daenerys spits while glaring at Tyrion. 

"Your Grace, if I may," says Brienne, "I saw Ser Jamie fall in battle, but when we went to collect the bodies, his couldn't be found." 

"It's very simple, he was probably injured and ran. The perfect cover." Daenerys says, hands clenching the table in front of her so hard her knuckles turn white. 

"I don't think he did your Grace," Brienne says again. "While we didn't find Ser Jamie, we did find this." Brienne motions towards Podrick who brings over a sheathed sword. Upon removing it, it's immediately clear to everyone what the shimmering metal is. 

"Valerian steel," Gendry states. 

"He wouldn't have run off without his sword," Brienne responds. 

Jon takes the sword from Pod and admires it for a minute. It was a beautiful weapon. And for some reason feels familiar in his hands. 

"You should have it," Brienne says, directing her attention to the former King of the North. "It was forged from your father's." She says and he has to remind himself for a second she means Ned Stark. "This one too", she says while reaching for her belt to loosen her sword. 

"Stop," Jon commands holding his hand up to her. "Keep your sword Ser Brienne," he says and at the title, a ghost of a smile crosses her lips, "With everything you've done for my sisters you more than deserve it. Ned Stark would want you to have it."

He turns Jamie's sword a few more times in his hands, then faces his sisters, "Either of you plan on having a son anytime soon?" He chuckles, not sure what Arya and Sansa would do with the sword right now, but happy to let them hold onto it. "This sword should stay with a true Stark." 

"Can I have it?" Arya pipes up, "Not for a son," she quickly and nervously adds as if trying to reassure someone and Jon thinks she might be glancing at someone across the room, "but for me?" she asks.

"Arya," Jon says, shaking his head. "This is no dainty blade like Needle. It is far too big for you."

"Is not!" She protests, "Father's blade was too big for any person but he fought with it. You carry quite a long sword for someone so short!" 

"Arya." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "We are not having this argument." 

"But I can fight! I'm really good at it!" 

"You are not trained, Arya." He says through gritted teeth trying to keep his composure in front of everyone while in a spat with his little sister. 

He still hasn't seen her fight and has no idea how she took down the Knight King. He should be happy he's dead, but part of him is pissed he wasn't the one to do it. 

"I hate to argue with you, your Grace." Davos begins, "Your sister might look like less than a wisp of a girl but she is very possibly the best fighter I have ever seen."

Jon sighs and shakes his head then turns to Arya. "You prove to me in the training field you know how to fight with this, then I will consider it." He says sternly. 

"Tomorrow?" Arya asks gleefully. 

"When your head is healed," Jon shoots back and the smile is quickly wiped from her face, she grumbles something that Jon doesn't hear but it causes Gendry to smirk, who Jon shoots daggers back at. The more Jon picks up on how close Gendry is with his little sister the less he likes him.

Jon and Arya scowl at each other until Daenerys clears her throat. 

"Grey Worm, please have those Unsullied who are willing to search for Ser Jamie continue to do so." She asks. 

"Of course Khaleesi." Her commander nods.

"Now," she says, laying her hands on the table, "the only other matter for tonight is that of the Free Folk. I know that Cersei is not your queen, nor necessarily am I, but..." 

"Don't fret about that Dragon Queen." Tormund assures her, "we didn't have a tiny little thing like you fly in on your great beasts to save our asses just to run back North. We're in this to fight to see you sit in that silly mental throne." 

"Thank you." She says and gives him a kind smile, before and shifting her gaze to Jon who gives her a reassuring smile as well.

"Plus I need the long journey south to interrogate the little crow on how he seduced you with that tiny pecked of his," Tormund says slapping Jon so hard on the back it does nothing to help the embarrassed choking cough Jon lets out. 

Dany's face turns a cute shade of pink as well and nods, "I think we're quite done here. Get some rest everyone." She says relieved she can finally succumb to her exhaustion. 

Everyone shuffles out of the room but Jon approaches Daenerys and his hand finds the small of her back, she leans into him ever so slightly. 

"Are they back together?" Arya whispers loudly to Sanas, "or am I seeing things?" 

"Come on, off to bed and I'll explain there," and Jon knows she's refraining from shoving her out the door as he and Rob would have to do when she misbehaved as a child. 

"We could name that sword Icicle," Gendry says as he follows Arya out of the room, "since your father's sword was called Ice." 

"That's a stupid name." Arya shoots back, and Jon remembers he doesn't have to worry about his sister at all.

Dany turns and leans into him more, holding him close with her arms around his neck and his on her waist. She kisses on his soft pillowy lips before letting her head fall to his shoulder and pressing her nose in his neck, inhaling his familiar scent of leather and what she now realizes since traveling north is the smell of snow.

"Let's go to bed." She says and kisses his neck softly while playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

"There's somewhere I want to take you first if that's alright." His hands on her waist push her away just the slightest bit so she's forced to look at him. "Unless our babe is making you too tired?" he says with a concerned tone but the slight twitch of a smile that she wonders he'll keep every time he mentions their baby.

The promise of a surprise is enough to excite her and forget her fatigue for a moment, "Not tired at all," she says with a beaming smile.

He takes her gloved hand and reaches to the chair next to him grabbing his cloak and wrapping it around her. "We won't be outside long but you'll need this." He tells her and begins to lead her out of the castle and to the Godswood. 

Jon almost stops for a second when he sees Sansa and Arya in a heated argument but decides to let his sisters figure it out on their own. 

It is beautiful, Daenerys thinks. As they make their way to the strange tree and perfectly still pool in front of it. It even feels warmer there than she suspected. 

Jon stops right before the tree and takes both her hands in his. "I know you don't take any gods, so there certainly isn't a reason for you to go by the old ones, and Tyrion will probably want to make some kind of spectacle of our union by the seven, but... '' he says his hand finding his way into his cloak she wears and over her belly, "we don't have that much time, and my family has always done important things before this tree." 

She gives him an encouraging smile and he lets out a shaky breath before continuing. 

"It isn't just because of the babe, although, that certainly puts some pressure on us to do this quickly. It's because I love you. I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, it just took me some time to realize it. I was a damn fool to push you away when I learned about Rhaegar and Lyanna and I spent every moment of the battle tormented thinking that I could lose you without you knowing how much I love you. 

"So," he says pulling back his shoulders to stand taller, and look more confident than he feels, "Daenerys Stormborn, I'd like to marry you, here at this very spot, before we leave for Kings Landing, " he asks and she thinks her heart might burst, "if you'll have me," he adds quietly looking adorably nervous. 

"When I left Mareen" she beings, voice unwavering, unlike Jon's, "I knew I had to make allies in Westeros, and the best way to make allies is through marriage. From the beginning, you were a suitable match, but the more time we spent together the more I thought that I might be allowed a gift so rare, in that I would marry someone I truly love." She squeezes his hands. "I would be honored to be your wife, Jon."

Jon knows she can see the relief and pure joy that washes over his face before he leans in to kiss her, soft at first, but then his tongue is pushing against her lips, intending to deepen it. 

To his confusion, she pulls back instead. 

"But," she starts, and she's disappointed in herself with how quickly she erases the joy from his face and instead he tilts his head in confusion. 

"I need to make sure I can trust you, Jon." She says, eyes staring so deeply into his. 

"Dany, I fucked up, and I promised I would never do that to you again." He assures her. 

"I know, and you needn't look so hurt, I will marry you, just not this instant and not tomorrow. I can't lose you again. I need some time and you need to prove that I can trust you. You must understand where I am coming from." 

She won't blindly throw herself to him as she did before. 

"Aye, I do."

"Just think of it as a chance to court me," she says with a teasing smile and leans in to kiss him, hopefully erasing some of the pain off his face. They should enjoy what little happiness they have before their next war. 

"Does courting you include taking you to bed?" Jon asks, every other word punctuated with a kiss. 

"I think that might fall under seducing, but I'll allow it," Dany says and lets out a squeal when Jon lifts her under her bottom so her legs can wrap around his waist and he carries her back inside. 

Once they're in her room he unclasps his cloak and it slips from her shoulders and onto the ground, he places her on her feet so they can both undress, but picks her back up again once they're bare. Already, she can feel his hard erection pressing between them, and the warmth starts to pool between her legs. He kisses her and lies her down on the bed so gently and lovingly. 

"Is this ok?" He asks, kneeling next to her placing his hand on her stomach. "What we did last night? I don't want to hurt the babe."

"The babe will be perfectly fine Jon." She assures him, but he is still hesitant, so she sits up, pushing him against the pillows and climbs on his lap. 

"See," she says, taking his and placing it back over her womb, "perfectly safe between us." 

He nods, though still not looking entirely convinced, so she takes him in hand and sinks down on him. She grinds into his lap and finally he lets go of any hesitancy and starts thrusting up into her. Her orgasm takes her quickly and by surprise, and she can't do much more but lay heavily against him while he continues thrusting into her. 

"I've got you Dany," he says holding her close with his wide palm splayed on her lower back and kisses her sweaty forehead. It triggers a second for her, and soon after she can feel him coming too.

He holds her for a little longer and she's all too happy to allow it. The only sounds in the room are the cracking of the hearth and their slowing breaths. 

Jon shifts them so they're lying down in the same position as the night before so he can hold Dany close and keep a protective hand over their child. She loves how enthralled he is of her pregnancy, and smiles at the thought of how he might never let her go once he can start to feel the baby wriggle around. 

"Sleep well, my love," Jon says kissing the back of her neck, and Daenerys begins to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to not make Jon such a soft bitch, but I’m a soft bitch so it’s hard. 
> 
> I did add a few more chapters because this one turned into a lot more than I thought it would be. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading, I'll try to get the next part up sooner than this one. Your comments bring me so much joy so let me know what you think!


	5. A time for a Dragonwolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys fights a battle of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry for the long wait on this. You might have noticed I switched up the chapters a little bit. Nothing before this story-wise has changed, just a chapter title. 
> 
> More on that at the end, but until then, enjoy.

She’s running. 

Through the snow in her matching white coat. 

Both are now covered in blood. 

She’s not sure if it’s her own or someone else’s, and she doesn’t have time to figure it out.

Death is all around her and she’s running as fast as she can in hopes of getting away from it. But every time she turns around, he’s closer.

His blue eyes shine brighter as he approaches her.

_Don’t turn around,_ she keeps telling herself.

But she can’t control it. 

And then finally she doesn’t have time to turn around. She feels it. His arms reaching around her, grabbing her from behind and holding her back.

When Daenerys jerks awake she’s panting. Her heart is racing, and it takes a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dark and realize where she is.

In her chambers in Winterfell.

No.

_Dragonstone_ , she remembers. They left Winterfell months ago. The night king was neither here nor there.

He is dead. Arya killed him.

_It's just a dream_ , she tells herself.

Just another dream that plagued the survivors of Winterfell ever since the Night King’s body shattered like ice, blowing over the blood-stained snow and leaving behind some kind of lingering haunted memory of him.

_It's just a dream_ , she repeats to herself again.

So if it is just a dream why does it still feel like someone is holding her from behind?

She puts one hand on her swollen belly where her abdomen is tightening and the other on the bed to slowly lift herself up as fast as her nine months pregnant belly allows.

She knows this feeling. 

It’s similar to the feeling that sent her into a frenzy just a few weeks before, after a particularly long day on horseback and meeting with stubborn lords who refused to call her Queen. The stress had finally caught up to her and caused her stomach to cramp, but _that_ feeling was soothed with some much-needed rest. _This_ feeling reminds her of a terrible memory from years ago back in the Dothraki Sea, the last thing she felt before passing out and losing her Rhaego. 

“Sleep my little dragon,” she whispers while rubbing her belly. “It isn’t time to come out yet. Kepa isn’t here.”

The baby responds with a swift kick so hard it takes Daenerys’ breath away.

Jon left a few weeks earlier. He was reluctant to leave her while she was so pregnant and could go into labor any day, but they had delayed their march on King’s Landing long enough.

Jon wanted to travel south as soon as the dust had settled from the Great War. It was Sansa who suggested they wait for their soldiers to rest, and Daenerys who convinced him it was the right plan.

What was left of her Dothraki and Unsullied departed Winterfell before them to covertly surround King’s Landing, making sure no food or refugees made their way into the city, while Yara Greyjoy and her ships took care of the sea. It was then that Jon and Dany rode together making their long descent south. Stopping and meeting with lords and commoners along the way.

Some had been accepting of their new queen immediately. Others were more ready to bend the knee with Jon as King by her side. And a couple of really stubborn ones refused to call her queen. They only changed their minds when they saw the queen brought food and warm clothes for their people to prepare them for the long-anticipated winter.

By the time they reached Dragonstone enough of the lords were convinced to bend the knee to Daenerys that they were confident their only threat was Cersei. Preparations were made and everything was set in place to take King’s Landing. But due to their slow journey south, Daenerys was heavy with child, so Jon reluctantly left her behind on the island with Tyrion, Missandei, a handful of handmaidens, a Dothraki midwife, more guards than she thought necessary, and Ghost, who refused to leave her side ever since she had arrived in Winterfell.

“Daenerys?” a sleepy voice says from beside her.

Dany turns to see Missandei sitting up in bed next to her and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

She had taken to joining Daenerys in her bed a few weeks ago. They slept in their own rooms at first but woke each other up with their screams from nightmares every night since Jon and Grey Worm left for King’s Landing.

By the third night, Daenerys suggested Missandei sleep in bed with her. She wasn’t convinced it would stop the nightmares but it would prevent them from rushing down the hall to comfort each other when their screams woke them up in the middle of the night. In the end, it did help. It was comforting to have someone in bed next to her.

“Daenerys are you alright?” Missandei asks as another pain prevents Dany from responding. Missandei grabs Dany’s hands and she’s thankful to squeeze them through the pain.

“Breathe.” Missandei reminds her friend.

The pain doesn’t last long and if Daenerys is being honest it doesn’t hurt that much, but the fear of it being time to have the baby paralyzes her.

“How long have the pains been coming?” Missandei asks when Dany’s breath starts to even.

“Not long. They just started. They could be practice ones again.”

“Did they feel like practice ones?”

Daenerys shakes her head no.

“Why don’t we stay up for a while and see if they continue?”

They stay up for an hour and count six contractions in that time, all evenly spaced.

Missandei then prompts Daenerys to lie back against the pillows and lifts her night shift over her knees so she can check how far along she is.

“Why don’t you try to get some more sleep Daenerys?” Missandei says after a quick exam and nudges her knees back together.

“Your body is starting to make room for the baby, but it could take hours. We may as well get some rest before the little one is keeping us up all night.”

“She can’t come yet,” Daenerys says in a hushed voice rubbing her belly and trying to hold back tears. “Jon isn’t here.”

“She’s going to come when she’s ready. And we’re ready as well, we’ve been preparing for this for months. Now come on, no use in having an exhausted mother.” Missandei says giving Daenerys’ elbow a comforting squeeze.

Missandei helps Daenerys get as comfortable as possible, laying her on her side and putting a pillow beneath her belly for support and one between her legs to alleviate some of the pressure in her hips.

As hard as she tries to get some rest Daenerys is stuck somewhere between sleep and consciousness for the rest of the night. Waking slightly every time the pain cramps her stomach.

The dreams don’t stop either. They only get worse. The tightening in her stomach worsens too until finally, she wakes up during a nightmare of the Night King stabbing her belly. The pain doesn’t stop even when she opens her eyes, but Missandei is there in a second.

“Breathe Daenerys.” She encourages her and offers her hands to squeeze.

“What time is it?” Dany asks, looking around confused. She felt like she had been resting for hours but from the light in the room, it looks like the sun hasn’t come up yet.

“I think it’s about midday.” She tells her. “The sun never came up and it looks like there’s a big snowstorm on its way.”

_Stormborn_ Dany thinks and smirks while rubbing her belly. The smirk turns into a grimace when pain takes over her again.

It hurts this time, but she knows it is only going to get worse as she balls up the sheets in her hands and breaths through it. When it’s over Missandei’s reassuring face is looking down at her, and as much as Dany wants Jon to be there, she can’t imagine doing this without her best friend by her side.

“I can’t lie here anymore,” Dany says suddenly.

“Good. Let’s walk then.” Missandei offers and helps her up.

So they walk.

They walk through every contraction, with Ghost trailing silently beside her. Swaying when she needs to, stopping to lean up against the stone walls when necessary, or gently as she can clutching Ghost’s fur, in an attempt to feel closer to Jon. 

They walk for hours, trying every technique they know to work through the pain, and talking about everything they can to keep Dany’s mind off it.

They reminisce a lot about Jon and Daenerys’ wedding, one of the few joyous days they had in the past few months. It was held in the Godswood of Winterfell. A small intimate affair with only Jon’s sisters, Missandei, Grey Worm, Davos, and Tyrion in attendance.

Her dress was gorgeous. Hand sewed by Sansa and Missandei before the union was even announced. White and warm wool with long sleeves, a big heavy skirt to cover her growing belly, and embroidered with dragons and wolves.

It was a beautiful ceremony that took place after the sun had set but with so many candles and lanterns strung up to give the Weirwood tree a warm glow.

After, due to Tyrian’s insistence, a large feast was held with the rest of the Lords and soldiers who would be departing south the next day. The feast was to honor the new bride and groom as well as serve as one final celebration before the war to come.

Dany and Jon were introduced as Queen Daenerys and King Jon Targaryen. Causing a few heads to tilt, but no one truly questioning it and effectively hiding Jon’s parentage in plain sight.

The attendees of the wedding ceremony learned of Ned Stark’s greatest and final secret weeks before. Jon and Daenerys felt they needed to know. And it was necessary for Arya’s safety, who before learning the truth was convinced if Jon as a Stark could ride one of Daenerys’s dragons, she could too. 

The evening was perfect, apart from when Jon caught the newly legitimized Baratheon balls deep in little his sister. The young lovers apparently couldn’t find it in themselves to make it back to their quarters before taking each other in a dark corner of Winterfell’s halls.

Daenerys was sure Jon could have killed Gendry at that moment, had it not been for her holding him back, and Arya jumping in between them so quickly that her breasts still exposed, and effectively shocking her brother into a paralyzed state.

“Don’t get pregnant, Arya,” is all Jon was able to mumble as Daenerys dragged him back to the festivities. 

“A bit hypocritical don’t you think?” Arya murmured after him.

Missandei and Daenerys still laugh at the moment, while the mere thought of it never fails to turn Jon bright red. 

Arya managed to embarrass him one more time since then while sparing on the road. Every camp had an area set up for training, and Jon came upon it one day, to see his younger sister facing three of Grey Worm’s best men. He was about to interfere and stop it but stopped dead in his tracks as his sister began to fight, and he saw just how lethal she was. It took no time at all for her to knock the three Unsullied on their asses. 

Arya took a bow for her audience but gave Jon a smug smile when she realized he’d been watching. 

“Fine,” he huffed, “I will teach you how to fight with Jamie’s sword.” 

Her cunning smile never went away after that. 

Dany and Missandei reminisce on things like that for hours. Talking about the battle plans, the baby, the stories from their past in Essos - anything to get Daenerys’ mind off the pain in between contractions.

At some point, the storm Missandei warned about hits. Dumping large clumps of snow that coats the ground and winds that whip around the castle so hard some of the older looser stones can be heard tumbling off the exterior walls.

They are left relatively alone while they wait for the baby to come.

The end of the pregnancy was hard on Daenerys. 

She doesn’t remember being this swollen or achy with Rhaego, but the midwife assured her every pregnancy is different. At least the morning sickness went away in the fourth moon. 

Still, the restless babe left many of her nights with little to no sleep. That combined with Jon being gone and the nightmares, she was irritable at best. She snapped at her handmaids more often than not and had been a full-on terror to the serving girl and cook who brought her a meal with pork in it, something she couldn’t stand throughout her pregnancy.

She had hardly seen a serving person since then. Missandei was working double time - fetching all her meals, helping her bathe and dress, as well as keeping up with her main role as Daenerys’ most trusted advisor. 

Dany only supped with Missandei and Tyrion, who she found strangely comforting during this time considering how often her Hand irritated her before.

The midwife comes and checks on them every once in a while, but is confident Missandei has everything under control. She assures Daenerys in blunt Dothraki that she’s progressing and everything is going well.

“Ah, my queen.” Daenerys hears as the pain of another contraction starts to build up inside of her. “How is our little prince or princess today?” Tyrion asks as he approaches Dany.

“Trying to kill me,” Daenerys says through gritted teeth. “Tell me, Lord Tyrion, Lady Melisandre died during the Great War, did she not?” She braces herself against the wall. One hand on the cold stones, the other clutching her belly.

“She did my queen,” Tyrion answers looking confused.

“A shame,” Dany says still doubled over in pain. “There is another red priestess, in Meereen called Kinvara. If Lord Snow dies in this stupid war, I need you to summon her.”

“As you wish, Your Grace, but for what purpose?”

“I need her to resurrect him, so I can kill him myself.” Daenerys groans with the last word and leans more against the stone wall.

Tyrion gives a sympathetic smile to Missandei who’s applying pressure to Daenerys’ back, trying to help with the pain. After a few more seconds Daenerys lets out a shaky breath and slowly stands back up. There’s a thin sheen of sweat across her forehead.

“Please tell me they’re getting closer.” She asks Missandei which might be the closest thing to begging Tyrion has ever heard from her. 

“Sorry, Daenerys,” Missandei says with a regretful smile.

Daenerys groans in frustration and continues to walk, or rather waddle as Tyrion notices, but wouldn’t dare mention, down the hall.

“Missandei. Why don’t you get some rest? You’ve been up with our queen all night, I’d be happy to walk with her.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly.” She protests.

“You can. You will be much more useful during the birth than I. Take a break. I will personally fetch you myself if our Queen needs anything.”

Daenerys isn’t sure how she feels about trading Missandei for Tyrion but the next time the pain starts to take over she doubles over and Tyrion’s shoulders are the perfect height for her to clutch onto. And to her surprise, he’s actually helpful. He walks alongside her while she paces the halls, talking about meaningless anecdotes and for maybe the first time ever silencing himself when she doesn’t want to hear him speak.

He’s unbothered by her soft moans and little cries when the contractions start to get intense and always makes sure to let her grip his hand through them. He only shies away once when he hears the sound of water splashing on the floor.

“Um, did you...” Tyrion asks at a loss for words and looking uncomfortable as he tries to move them away from the puddle. 

“My waters broke.” She snaps at him as another contraction begins. She’s surprised by how quickly another one builds up in her, and this one feels different.

“I think I need to push,” Daenerys tells him. 

“Let’s find Missandei then.”

Tyrion goes to grab her arm but Dany recoils.

“I’m scared,” she whispers

“You’ll be alright, Daenerys,” is all he can tell her and knows it might be his worst attempt at comforting her. 

“Don’t leave my side.” She commands.

Tyrion nods, though weary at the thought of being present for the birth, but leads her back to her room, grabbing Missandei along the way.

There’s a flurry of activity as Missandei and the Zhalli finish preparing the room. Ghost waits stoically by her side but gives a small whine when a painful contraction hits her, and he pushes his nose into her hand to let her know he’s still there. 

When everything’s ready they prop Dany up against a mountain of pillows so she’s sitting up tall in the bed, and the midwife checks Daenerys progress.

“You can go ahead and give a little push.” The midwife instructs her. Missandei and a young Dothraki girl who Zhalli has been training hold Dany’s legs in place, while Tyrion stays by her head and offers her his hand. Daenerys follows her instructions and starts to push.

The pain is so intense she can hardly hear the midwife’s curt Dothraki or Missandei’s soothing words. The raging winter storm and the sound of the whipping winds keep her grounded through the pain, and after what feels like an eternity of pushing she swears she hears the flapping of wings and screeching of a dragon.

“Rhaegal?” She whispers breathlessly after a strong contraction and a big push.

Missandei is about to say something when there’s a loud crash above and she can hear the tumbling of stones falling off the top of the castle. 

_And the scraping of claws?_

“I’ll go check in what that was,” Tyrion says and shuffles out of the room, welcoming the opportunity to get away from the birth.

The pain and the midwife focus Dany’s attention back to the task at hand and she gives another big push. She can hear a scuffle from behind her bedroom door, then a splash before it flies open a few minutes later.

“Jon?” She questions, not sure if he’s real or if the blinding pain is making her delusional.

Jon walks in towards her shirtless, lacing up his breeches, and dripping wet.

“Tyrion made me bathe.” He mumbles.

Still not believing it’s actually him, Daenerys reaches her hand out towards him but quickly brings it back when another contraction takes over.

“Push, Khaleesi” the midwife instructs her.

Jon is at her side, replacing the midwife’s assistant, gripping her hand in an instant. “It’s alright Dany, I’m here.”

“How?” She asks when she finishes pushing.

“Rhaegal. There’s quite a storm going on out there, I have no idea how he knew where to go.”

She can feel the pain building up again, practically no time between them now that she’s so close to meeting her child. She’ll have to ask her questions after her baby is here.

“Um. What do I do?” Jon asks flustered, looking toward Missandei and the midwife for help.

“Just offer her your hand and hold her leg, like I am.” Missandei directs in her ever calm voice.

“No.” She pants between pushes. “Hold me.”

Not one to deny his wife, Jon moves some of the pillows from behind Daenerys and climbs on the bed behind her. He leans against the headboard and lets her rest against his chest.

Daenerys visibly relaxes now that Jon is there and things start to progress quickly. He holds her through every contraction, letting her crush his hands, kissing her head when she cries out in pain, and constantly reassuring her she’s doing well.

After pushing for what feels like hours, although in reality it’s probably been less than thirty minutes, the midwife gives Daenerys a surprising instruction.

“Nakho.”

“Stop?” Daenerys asks confused.

“The head’s coming Daenerys. We want it to come out slowly so you don’t tear.” Missandei tells her. “Try to breathe through the pain instead of pushing.”

She clutches onto Jon for dear life, breathing through the pain that’s so intense she only sees black. Then there’s a searing pain between her legs. She doesn’t know how she hasn’t torn yet when she’s sure her baby is ripping her apart.

She’s walked through fire twice, but somehow the pain of her child crowning burns so much more.

It takes every last bit of strength she has to fight the overwhelming urge to push, and instead focus on Missandei, who’s massaging her leg and breathing with her.

Jon is still behind her still holding her and kissing her head telling her how great she’s doing.

She breathes through the pain until it almost becomes too much and finally lets out a sharp pained cry. She isn’t sure she’s going to die but the pain is so intense that she thinks she wants to. 

Then, all of a sudden, there’s a moment of relief. The burning is still there but not as intense.

With her eyes still shut she collapses back against Jon. She’s exhausted, drenched in sweat, and doesn’t know how she’ll go on.

As if her best friend can read her mine, Dany feels Missandei take her shaking hand and gently brings it between her legs, where she cups something firm and sticky.

“Open your eyes, Dany.” Jon whispers, from behind her. By the sound of his voice, she can tell he’s leaning over her shoulder.

She opens her eyes and lets out a choked sob when she sees a small little head, silver-blonde hair matted down with blood and gunk, peeking out from between her legs.

“She has your hair,” Jon says and kisses her head.

For a moment she runs her fingers through the tufts of white hair before the pressure returns and reminds her that her job isn’t done yet.

“Give another push Khaleesi,” the midwife says in Dothraki. 

While the pain is still excruciating Daenerys concentrates on the little body emerging from her. Once the shoulders are out Zhalli helps her grab the baby from under her little arms and with one more push she pulls her baby the rest of the way out and lays her directly on her chest.

“You were right, Daenerys, it’s a girl,” Missandei says, before bringing a towel to wipe off the baby, and suddenly the room is filled with a loud wet cry and Jon thinks it’s the most wonderful sound he’s ever heard.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he helps Dany, whose whole body is shaking, hold their daughter against her chest.

“Are they alright?” He asks, looking down at his daughter, and wife who are now both covered in blood and crying.

“They’re alright,” Missandei says reassuringly as always. “Birth is hard but your girls are strong.”

Jon can’t help but stare at his new daughter in Daenerys’ arms. He watches her, gently stroking her little cheek that’s soft as a cloud.

Daenerys is crying and muttering to the baby in soft Valyrian. Most of it he doesn’t understand apart from “avy jorrāelan.”

“I love you too,” he whispers to the baby. “Already, even though you’re only moments old, I love you so so much.”

Seemingly able to recognize her parents’ voices the baby’s cries soften and she looks up at mother with unfocused eyes, a grey so dark they seem almost black. 

She endures her parents’ soft touches and words of love and affection for quite a while before she starts whimpering again, and the midwife interferes, pushing Daenerys' robe off her shoulder and helping her adjust the baby to latch onto her breast. It takes a few tires but before long the little baby is quietly and suckling from her mother.

By this time the cord has stopped pulsing, and Jon is offered a pair of shears to cut it, but he is too comfortable to move from behind his wife, so Missandei does the honors instead. They’re both too wrapped up in their baby to notice the afterbirth leave Daenerys and the midwife whisks it away

Reluctantly, when she’s done feeding, Daenerys hands the baby to the midwife to be checked over. Zhalli keeps the baby close. Laying her next to her mother while checking over her tiny body. She’s deemed perfect, as her parents already know, and placed in Missandei’s waiting arms to be cleaned and bundled.

The midwife checks over Daenerys as well, informing her she has a few small tears but nothing requiring stitches. Once she’s done Jon helps her into the waiting copper tub, filled with steaming water.

Daenerys sinks down as the warm water soothes her aching muscles. She wants to close her eyes, and sleep, knowing Jon won’t let her slip too far into the water, but she can’t take her eyes off Missandei, who’s quietly cooing at the new baby.

“Are you alright?” Jon asks next to her.

Dany lifts her hand out of the water gently brushing her fingers against the bruise that’s blooming around Jon’s eye.

“I’ll be okay, just sore. Are you?” She asks when her hand travels to his chest where more bruises are forming.

“Aye.” He says and leans in to brush his lips against hers.

“Did we win?” she asks, afraid to hear the answer even though sitting here next to him is a pretty good indication of what he’s about to say.

“Aye,” he says again gloomily. “We won.”

Missandei walks over and before Jon has time to voice his concerns about hurting or dropping his daughter Missandei plops the baby in his arms.

“She wants her father,” Missandei tells him. 

He can’t keep in the tears that gather in his eyes at being called father, so he lets them fall while holding her close against his chest, just as Daenerys did after delivering her, and Missandei helps him arrange the blanket around her. Missandei gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze then moves to Daenerys to help her wash away the remnants of the birth.

Daenerys raises her hand out of the water to brush a finger against the baby’s little knuckles. “She’s beautiful,” she whispers.

“Aye, just like her mother.” Jon agrees, placing a soft kiss against the baby’s head.

“Do you still want to call her Rhaella?” Dany asks. 

They discussed names before he left for King’s Landing. She offered to give the baby a northern name, even Lyanna in honor of his mother since Jon had taken the surname Targaryen, but he insisted he wanted his children to carry Targaryen names. Sansa and Arya could use all the northern names they wanted, as the last two, now three, Targaryens in the world, they should continue the tradition. They settled on Rhaella without much discussion, in honor of her mother and his grandmother.

“Aye. I think it’s the perfect name for our future queen.” He says and places another soft kiss against the baby’s head.

They sit in a peaceful quiet while Missandei helps bathe Daenerys.

The baby dozed off in Jon’s arms relatively undisturbed until the end of Daenerys bath when she starts fussing, her tiny fist she’s been sucking on not giving her the satisfaction she’s looking for.

Missandei finishes up and helps Dany out of the tub while Jon moves the short distance over to the bed, trying to soothe the fussy baby.

Missandei quickly bundles Dany’s lower half, similar to how she did the baby, before helping Daenerys into a heavy robe.

She doesn’t bother knotting it since Rhaella needs to be fed, and shuffles her way over to their bed. 

A moment ago Jon was scared to hold the baby while sitting down, now he shifts Rhaella in one arm like he’s been doing it his whole life and he and Missandei help Daenerys get in bed and comfortable.

“Come here my little dragonwolf,” she whispers to the baby, whose little cries are breaking her heart.

Missandei helps her get the baby latched, while Jon scurries around the room, filling Dany’s water glass, fluffing her pillows, and draping more furs over her.

“My love, please sit down with us,” Dany says after Jon asks her for the 10th time if he can get her anything.

He slides next to her and slips his arm around her shoulder. “She’s so tiny,” Jon says holding Rhaella’s little sock-clad foot that’s smaller than his thumb. Her sucking starts to slow and soon she releases Daenerys’ nipple with a soft pop. Missandei then shows Jon how to burp her.

“Is there anything else you need?” Missandei asks, taking Dany’s hands.

“No, my friend.” She says giving Missandei’s hands a squeeze. “Thank you for everything.”

“Zhalli and I will be sleeping in your solar if you need anything.”

“Thank you Missandei,” Jon tells her. She looks like she wants to ask him something, Grey Worms well being Daenerys is sure, but she leans down to kiss the baby’s head instead, before exiting the room.

“Do you want her back?” Jon asks Daenerys who’s reaching out to brush her fingers up and down Rhaella’s little back and looking at her so longingly.

“Yes,” Daenerys answers truthfully, “but I carried her for nearly nine moons, you can have her a little longer.” She lays her head on his shoulder then and closes her eyes just for a second, but watching her husband snuggle their newborn is too precious for her to take her eyes off of.

Jon holds Rhaella against his still bare chest and her parents are mesmerized by every little breath she takes and every flex of her hands, but they’re both exhausted and know they need to put her down soon.

Jon gives her back to Daenerys so he can go to the dresser in their room that Missandei turned into a changing table, and finds a pair of warm sleeping clothes for the baby, as well as a blanket Sansa made that they can swaddle her in.

“Will you get Missandei or Zhalli to swaddle her?” Daenerys asks after she’s dressed Rhaella.

“I think,” Jon says, pulling at the sides of the blanket, and tucking them around until she snug in there, “I remember how.” He says with a proud smile. 

“I had four little brothers and sisters,” Jon says with a smile, answering Dany’s confused look while passing Rhaella back to her.

“Catelyn hardy used a wetnurse, apart from Arya who gave her a world of trouble for the beginning, so when they were with one, it was one of the rare moments I was allowed to spend time with them. She taught me how to swaddle and change a babe.” He explains. 

Daenerys holds Rhaella in one arm, her free hand laying lightly on the baby’s little chest, feeling the strong rise and fall of every breath. “Well, it is a good thing we have your Papa sweetness because I don't know a thing about babes.” She kisses her little dark brows and looks back at Jon. 

She is used to men staring at her longingly but the way Jon looks at her now takes her breath away. For so long she never imagined she’d have this moment - in bed with her husband, a man she loves unconditionally, and a new babe, breathing steadily in her arms. 

She leans in, and Jon meets her there, placing a soft kiss on her lips. It’s so perfect, she hates to break them out of this moment, of their perfect little bubble of bliss. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” She asks leaning back against the headboard and making sure Rhaella is still settled. 

“I will in the morning,” Jon promises, and looks out the window to see the sun has blissfully decided to rise, unlike the dark frigid day before. “Or after a few hours of sleep, I guess. Let’s just enjoy a few more peaceful hours with our daughter.” 

Daenerys lays her head on Jon’s shoulder in silent agreement. Jon moves a finger to stroke Rhaella’s little hand that’s escaped her swaddle, and in her sleep, she grabs ahold of him. 

Eventually, Jon puts her in her cradle and she sleeps on, unaware that when she wakes her parents in a few hours, they will have to discuss the fate of the Seven Kingdoms, the weight of which will ultimately fall on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's what happened. 
> 
> For almost three months now I have been working on a chapter that was going to go before this one, and after the last part. Well, 7,000 words later, countless edits and rewrites, I still just hated to. So I scrapped it and added all of the important parts to this chapter (the wedding, the nightmares, Gendrya, and Arya's badass fighting abilities.) 
> 
> Now the cruel irony of it all is the bulk of this chapter, has been written since 2017, but I never had a reason to finish and post it until all of you lovely people came along and liked my one shot and asked me to write more. 
> 
> So now I am excited to introduce you all to my version of boat baby, Rhaella Stormborn Targaryen, who I always imagined came a little early and was super tiny, weighing just under 6 pounds, with her mother's looks, but father's eyes and frown. (I really thought something like this was going to happen in the show 🤡)
> 
> Next an epilogue of sorts where we learn what happened at King's Landing. I'm not going to promise I will get it up quickly, but I am going to try.


End file.
